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“LIMPY” 































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I’ll be Captain Kidd,” continued Jim, “ and you be Peg-leg, 
the sailor.” Frontispiece. See Page 181. 




“LIMPY” 

THE BOY WHO FELT 
NEGLECTED 


WILLIAM JOHNSTON 

A •* 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
ARTHUR W. BROWN 


NON-REFERT 

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BOSTON 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
1917 


Copyright , 1917, 

By William Johnston. 


All rights reserved 


Published, February, 1917 



8. J. Parkhill & Co., Boston, U.S.A. 

MAR - I I9i7 

©Cl. A4 57272 

"Ho | 


» 




k 


TO 

MY MOTHER 


AND 

TO ALL MOTHERS 
WHO UNDERSTAND 


I 











CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I 

A Wonderful Discovery 


. 

II 

Mainly About Women 



III 

Giving and Getting 



IV 

Peace with Honor . 



V 

And No Ice-cream . 



VI 

According to Code . 



VII 

A Changed Ambition . 



VIII 

Cousin Jim . 



IX 

A Bad Partnership 



X 

“I’m Not a ’Fraid-cat!” 



XI 

A Saturday Lesson 



XII 

A House and a Home . 


i« 

XIII 

In a Strange Land 



XIV 

For Value Received . 




PAGE 

1 

. 36 
. 62 
. 82 
. 103 
. 127 
. 14*7 
. 173 
. 197 
. 221 
. 210 
. 262 
. 287 
. 313 




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


“ I’ll be Captain Kidd,” continued Jim, “ and 

you be Peg-leg, the sailor ” . . Frontispiece y 

PAGE 

66 What made you lame ? ” she demanded sud- 
denly 12" 

He announced firmly, " I decline to answer any 

questions ” 14& 

For once old Jonas was at a loss to know how 

to comfort him . . . ... . 275 



“LIMPY” 


CHAPTER ONE 

A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY 

HE battle of Gettysburg was about to be 



JL fought over again in Tucker’s back-lot. 
Rob Tucker, as became the son of the man who 
owned the biggest mansion in the neighbor- 
hood, was running things, with Froggie 
Sweeney, his Pythias from a humbler home, 
assisting. 

“ I’ll be General Pickett,” Bob announced. 

“ An’ I’ll be General Lee,” said Froggie. 

“ Now, you can’t be General Lee. Both 
him and Pickett was rebels. We can’t have a 
battle with all rebels.” 

“ T ’ain’t right to call ’em rebels,” objected 
Henry Randolph Peters. “ They wuz Con- 
federates. My mother’s uncle from Virginia’s 
visitin’ at our house, and he fought in the war. 


2 “LIMPY” 

He always calls ’em Confederates, an’ I guess 
he knows.” 

“ Confederates and rebels is all the same 
thing,” decided Bob. “ Maybe they wuz Con- 
federates in Virginia, but as soon as they come 
North they wuz rebels. Who are you goin’ to 
be, Froggie?” 

“ I’d ruther be Lee nor anybody else, Gen- 
eral Robert E. Lee.” 

“ We’ve got it on our phonograph. It’s a 
bully record,” wheezed Fatty Bullen, who had 
just arrived. 

“Aw, shut up! We ain’t givin’ a concert. 
We’re planning a war,” Bob Tucker explained 
reprovingly. “ We’re playin’ Gettysburg.” 

“ What’s a steamboat got to do with Gettys- 
burg? ” demanded the rebuked Fatty, thick in 
brain as in body. 

“ Aw, shut up ! ” growled Tucker once more. 
“ Come on, Froggie, who are you goin’ to be? ” 

Froggie pondered. American history, as 
well as geography, spelling, grammar, arith- 
metic, and good conduct, were weak points 
with him. “ I don’t know no more generals,” 
he complained. 

A peaked, slender youngster, one leg 
clamped tight in a cruel iron brace, who had 


A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY 3 


been hovering excitedly on the edge of the 
group, worked his way in a little nearer 
the leader, eyes shining and lips trembling 
with knowledge unspoken. Froggie Sweeney 
might be found wanting in information about 
the famous battles of American history, but 
^not so Edward Haverford Randall. In his 
puny body dwelt a martial soul. He knew the 
names of all the commanders, North and South, 
and could have told most of the battles they 
had won and lost. Debarred by his deformity 
from sports in which the other boys delighted, 
and easily tired out whenever he endeavored 
to compete with them, he spent far more time 
in reading than do most youngsters of his age, 
and to pass away the monotony of his enforced 
and frequent solitudes had invented for himself 
many varieties of mental amusements. Often 
and often he had played that he was General 
Pickett making his famous charge. 

4 4 And if I only had a horse,” he would com- 
fort himself, “ I could ride and gallop as well 
as any one, and nobody would know about 
It.” 

Poor sensitive little soul, even in his confi- 
dences with himself he never referred to his 
crippled leg in any other way than just It — 


4 


“ LIMPY ” 


a terrible, terrible It, the shaming conscious- 
ness of which seldom left him for a single one 
of his waking moments. But now, in the ex- 
citement of approaching battle, self was for 
the time forgotten. He limped eagerly up to 
Froggie Sweeney. 

“ General Meade was a Union general,” he 
burst forth. “ He com ” 

“ Good for you, Limpy! ” Bob Tucker in- 
terrupted. “ All right, Froggie, you be Gen- 
eral Meade.” 

The absorbing business of enlisting the rival 
armies forthwith began. Eddie, in his anxiety 
to participate, forgot for once to be mortified 
at his unwelcome nickname. 

“ I’ll take Dick,” said Bob. 

“ An’ I’ll take Cookie,” said Froggie. 

“ I’ll take Fatty.” 

“ I’ll take Four-eyed.” 

“ I’ll take Pete.” 

“ I’U take Tom.” 

As one after another of the boys was chosen, 
and he still left, the very panic of despair that 
seized the little lame boy gave him unusual 
boldness. He could not believe it possible that 
they were going to leave him out of it. It was 
he who had told them about General Meade. 


A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY 5 


It was his game they were about to play. He 
must be in one or the other of the armies. 

“ You’ll pick me, won’t you, Bob? ” he asked 
with sudden resolution, as General Bob Tucker 
Pickett’s choice wavered between the two other 
boys left beside himself. They were “ littler 
fellows,” hardly worth picking. 

For answer Bob eyed him with a surprised 
stare. “ Naw, of course I ain’t going to pick 
you! You can’t run fast enough to play bat- 
tle. You’re too lame,” he added with the 
brutal candor of youth. 

In spite of his mightiest efforts the tears 
welled up in the eyes of Edward Haver ford 
Randall. He did so want to play Gettysburg ! 
Even Bob Tucker, boy-brute that he was, re- 
lented as he saw the passionate longing ex- 
pressed in the little cripple’s drawn face. 

“ Tell you what, Limpy,” he said not un- 
kindly, “ you can play the killed and wounded. 
More’n three-fourths of Pickett’s men was 
casualties . You be the killed and wounded. 
It’ll just suit you.” 

“ I won’t,” Eddie managed to blurt out with 
firmness, as he turned and strutted crookedly 
away, his head held high that the fellows might 
not suspect the presence of the great tears that 


6 


“ LIMP Y ” 


were rolling down his cheeks. Play “ killed 
and wounded ” — he who had so often pre- 
tended that he was the great General Pickett, 
he who knew the story of the battle by heart! 
“ Killed and wounded! ” Not much. There 
would be no fun for him in playing that. 

Tucker’s back-lot joined Eddie’s home, and 
thither the boy, seared to the heart by the un- 
witting cruelty of his mates, blinded by his own 
bitter tears, made his way. Twice he stum- 
bled and fell, each time the cruel iron rods that 
bound his leg giving it a painful wrench, which, 
in the intensity of his mental anguish, he hardly 
heeded. Unerringly some subconscious in- 
stinct sent him now in search of woman’s sym- 
pathy, for, since the world began, in time of 
trouble as in time of joy the man ever has 
sought the woman; the husband, the wife — 
the young man, the maid — and the boy, his 
Mother. 

Generally at this time in the afternoon Mrs. 
Randall was to be found alone in the little 
sewing-den that overlooked the side-porch, her 
darning-basket in her lap, busy with the never- 
ending succession of holes in the hosiery of the 
four of them — Dad, his two older brothers, and 
himself — but never too busy to put aside her 


A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY 7 


work-basket and gather into her arms which- 
ever of her four men, as she called them, sought 
solace. 

Even as he clambered awkwardly and pain- 
fully up on the porch a fresh pang of grief shot 
through his heart. He heard the shouts with 
which General Bob Tucker Pickett, his forces 
galloping at his heels, charged across the wheat 
field — the Tucker strawberry bed, to be exact 
— and he heard the answering yells with which 
General Froggie Sweeney Meade and his 
Union troops rallied to repel the invaders. 
Great silent sobs shook the boy’s puny frame. 
The intensity of his grief brought all manner 
of morbid thoughts into his head. No one 
wanted a little lame boy in any of the games. 
He wished he was dead. He never, never, 
never, could be like other boys, and run and 
jump. What if he did know all about Gen- 
eral Meade and Gettysburg? Bob and Frog- 
gie would neither of them pick him on their 
side. In all their games he was always the last 
one chosen, if indeed he was chosen at all. No- 
body ever wanted him. Nobody cared any- 
thing about him, that is nobody besides Mother. 
She always wanted him, always welcomed him. 

As he crept along the porch, his poor lame 


8 


“ LIMPY 


leg dragging pitifully, through the open win- 
dow of the sewing-room a strange voice came 
drifting out; he stopped abruptly. It was 
“ callers. 5 ’ He never liked them. They 
looked pityingly at him. If they knew about 
“it 55 they asked him how his leg was. If they 
didn’t know — it was worse. “ How did you 
hurt your leg, little boy? ” they were sure to 
say. He never appeared when there were 
visitors if he could avoid it. 

“Is Eddie’s leg any better?” he heard a 
woman’s voice asking. 

“ He’s still very lame,” he heard his mother 
answer. “We are doing everything we can 
for it, but he has to wear a brace. I’m afraid 
he will have to wear it always.” 

Oh, how could she! It did not seem pos- 
sible that it could be his own dear mother thus 
calmly discussing him with a stranger. Surely 
she must know how it shamed and mortified 
him to have “ it ” talked about by any one. 
He hated any mention of “ it ” when only his 
dad and the boys were present. Surely, surely 
she would not talk any more about it. All un- 
conscious of the little listening wraith of grief 
outside the screens Mrs. Randall continued: 

“ Of course Eddie can not play very much 


A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY 9 


with the other boys. It tires him too much; 
but he doesn’t seem to mind. He sits and 
reads most of the time.” 

“ Doesn’t — seem — to — mind ! ” His 
mother’s words cut deep into the shame of his 
loneliness. Even she did not realize the an- 
guish that his crippled limb brought to him. 
An unwonted sense of bitterness toward her 
swept over him. Even she didn’t care ! How 
could she, when she kept on talking about “ it ” 
to a strange woman. His tears dried up in 
anguish too great for expression. Sick at 
heart, feeling wretched and miserable and un- 
wanted, he hobbled as silently as he could away 
from the window and down off the porch. 

He stood pondering over his troubles, the 
craving for human sympathy strong upon him, 
yet with the feeling that with the refuge of 
his mother’s arms denied him there was no 
place else in all the world for him to go. From 
the direction of the tool-house in the barn came 
the voices of Dad and his two brothers, Tom 
and Richard. 

Boyhood’s griefs are evanescent. He won- 
dered what they could be doing there. The 
continuing sound of their voices stirring his 
curiosity further, he lent himself to his new im- 


10 


LIMPY ” 


pulse and limped slowly across the lawn to peer 
in at the open tool-house. 

Dad was at the work-bench hammering 
down a rivet in the strap of a leather knapsack. 
The two boys were watching him and excitedly 
discussing a “ hike,” on which the three of them 
were going to start early the next morning. 
In the joy of a new enthusiasm Eddie forgot 
his troubles. 

“Oh, Dad!” he cried with kindling eyes, 
“ can I go too? ” 

“ Nothing doing, son,” replied Mr. Randall, 
busy with the refractory rivet. “ We’re going 
to Bear Pond, and it’s too far for you to walk. 
It’s a good five miles each way, and you’re too 
lame to make it.” 

Absorbed in his task, the father did not see 
his little son’s eager look give way to one of 
uttermost despair. Little did he suspect with 
what harshness his carelessly uttered refusal 
had struck into the depths of the little crippled 
boy’s over-sensitive soul. Yet the blasting of 
Eddie’s new hope had brought back to him 
more vividly than before all his other troubles, 
making of them a burden that seemed wholly 
unbearable. 

Nobody wanted him — nobody! The boys 


A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY 11 


had refused to let him play Gettysburg with 
them. His mother had sat there calmly dis- 
cussing him with some strange woman. She 
could not have done that if she really and 
truly loved him. Even Dad — his wonderful, 
strong, youthful-looking Dad — spurned his 
company. A new resolve filled him. He 
would show them all. “ Couldn’t walk that 
far,” couldn’t he ? He would show them ! He 
would run away. He would walk and walk, 
until they never could find him. Maybe then 
they would be sorry. 

His one thought was for an immediate start 
without detection. As he hobbled away from 
the tool-house he tried to assume an air of 
don’t-care-ness, and even bravely puckered his 
lips in an effort to whistle, but somehow the 
whistle would not come. To escape observa- 
tion he made for an unofficial opening at the 
corner of the lot. As he squeezed through to 
the sidewalk he noted with satisfaction that 
She was out on the porch of the house next 
door. 

The family there had moved in only two days 
before. Yesterday he had seen her for the 
first time, a dainty, fairylike creature, all rib- 
bons and frills, with golden curls that reached 


12 


“ LIMP Y ” 


to her waist. All the previous afternoon he 
had worshipped afar off, saying to himself that 
she was the prettiest girl ever he had seen, won- 
dering what her name was, speculating on how 
he was to get acquainted. She might have 
been a fairy princess — had he believed in 
fairies. 

Now at the sight of her he squared his 
shoulders and endeavored manfully to hide his 
limp, succeeding only in attaining a pathetic, 
lopsided strut. His heart beat fast with ex- 
citement when he saw that she was regarding 
him with interest. He slackened his pace a 
little as he observed that she had arisen from 
the porch where she had been playing with her 
dolls, and was coming toward him. He could 
not believe it possible that this vision of love- 
liness really was going to condescend to speak 
to him. 

“ Hello, little boy,” she called out, in a voice 
such as a queen would have. 

He stopped abruptly, too confused and 
overwhelmed to know just what he was doing. 
She stood regarding him intently, as the color 
mounted to his cheeks, and his heart kept beat- 
ing faster and faster. 

“What made you lame?” she demanded 



“What made you lame? ” she demanded suddenly. Page 12. 






A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY 13 


suddenly with the vicious directness of eight. 

“ I’m not lame,” he shouted angrily, as he 
fled crookedly up the street, his resolve to run 
away fortified by this new mortification. 

He decided now that he would walk and 
walk and walk until he had walked himself to 
death. When he couldn’t go any farther he 
would just lie down and die. Maybe then 
they would all be sorry. As his weak, weary 
legs dragged him on and on his cheeks still 
tingled at the shame of the fairy princess’s in- 
sult, and his mind was filled with morbid, 
ghastly thoughts. He tried to picture to him- 
self how Dad would look as he was carried back 
into the house dead. Mother, he knew, would 
cry. She had cried for two whole days when 
Aunt Mary died. Perhaps the little girl from 
next door would come in to look at him, and, 
oh, wouldn’t she be sorry then ! 

Absorbed in his melancholy imaginings, he 
had kept on traveling until he was much fur- 
ther away from home than he ever had been 
before in this direction. As he followed the 
street down through the culvert that led under 
the railroad tracks he noted, not without a feel- 
ing of timidity, that he was in wholly unknown 
territory. The houses were much smaller and 


14 


“ LIMPY ” 


more dingy-looking than those nearer his home. 
Here and there was a little shop 

He stopped short and bent horrified gaze 
on a bearded old man sitting with chair tilted 
back in front of one of the shops. 

This old man was worse off than he was. 

He didn’t have any leg at all ! 

Where the old man’s leg should have been 
was just a stump all covered with patches of 
cloth. Leaning up against the front of the 
shop beside the chair was a big, funny-looking 
peg with straps to it. As Eddie studied it and 
the man, he decided that whenever the man 
wanted to walk he had to strap the peg where 
the leg should have been. 

“Hello, comrade!” the man called out 
cheerily. 

Abashed at being observed, but encouraged 
by the friendly greeting, Eddie moved closer 
and gravely and silently inspected the man and 
his surroundings. The man must be very, 
very old, he decided, for he had long white 
whiskers. The shop looked old, too, and over 
the door was a blurred sign which read “ Jonas 
Tucker: Tobacco, Cigars, and Candies.” 

“ Didn’t you ever have any leg? ” Eddie 
blurted out. 


A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY 15 


He felt he was being impolite in asking 
about it. He knew how he was mortified when 
people asked him questions about his leg. But 
something way down inside him insisted that 
he must know how it was to go through life 
without any leg at all. 

Old J onas chuckled merrily. The boy 
looked on aghast. How could a man without 
any leg ever laugh? 

“ Didn’t you ever have any leg at all? ” he 
repeated. 

“ It’s fifty years this summer,” the old man 
chuckled, “but, lordy, it was worth it! I’d 
gladly lose the other leg to go through it all 
again.” 

Wide-eyed with interest the weary youngster 
sank down beside the old shopkeeper’s chair, 
and soon was hearing the thrilling story of 
Gettysburg told by one who had fought there, 
by a veteran whose memories had just been de- 
lightfully refreshed by meeting on the battle- 
field again with his comrades of a half-cen- 
tury ago, and living over again the thrilling 
moments of Pickett’s charge. Interesting as 
Edward Haverford Randall had found the 
reading of war history, he found this narrative 
of a participant, of a soldier who had been 


16 


LIMPY ” 


wounded there, vastly more absorbing. Spell- 
bound he listened for a full hour, and when the 
narrative was ended he delighted the veteran 
with questions that showed familiarity with the 
episodes of Gettysburg. His curiosity about 
the battle at last sated, he began to ply his en- 
tertainer with questions about life without a 
leg. 

He was amazed to find that Jonas belittled 
his infirmity, optimistically asserting that you 
could have just as much fun with one leg as 
with two, and gallantly declaring that you were 
even better off, for if you broke your wooden 
leg it didn’t hurt. 

“ And I see there’s two of us,” old Jonas 
chuckled. “ You haven’t much of a leg your- 
self.” 

Somehow it did not mortify him in the least 
to have the one-legged man talk about his 
lameness. Instinctively he realized that old 
Jonas must understand. Here was some one 
to whom he could talk. Soon he was telling the 
whole sad story of the afternoon — how the 
boys would not let him play battle, how his 
mother had been discussing him with a stranger, 
how his father had said he was too lame to go on 
the “ hike,” and about the little girl next door. 


A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY 17 


“ Pooh, pooh,” the old man advised him. 
“ You mustn’t mind them at all. I’ve been 
through it all, and I know. It isn’t the shape 
of your body that counts. There’s Napoleon, 
a pot-bellied dwarf, and look what he did. 
And Alexander Pope was a hunchback, but 
he held his own against all London. J ohn Mil- 
ton had no eyes, but they’re still reading the 
poetry he wrote. Lord Byron was a clubfoot, 
but two countries are proud of him. You 
could go on naming them till your tongue was 
tired, the crippled and the handicapped that 
have done big things. There’s the great Em- 
peror William, in our own time, with an arm 
that’s no good, and Helen Keller that can 
neither see nor hear. I tell you, boy, it ain’t 
the shape of the body that counts, it’s the shape 
of the soul.” 

“ But,” protested Eddie with conviction, 
“ your soul hasn’t any shape.” 

Pie knew about your soul. It was what 
went out of you when you died. If you had 
been good and belonged to church it went to 
heaven. A soul was something like smoke — 
only thinner, so thin you couldn’t see it. 

“ You can’t see people’s souls,” he announced 
decisively. 


18 


“ LIMP Y ” 


“ Oh, yes, you can,” old Jonas affirmed. 
“ Everybody can’t but we can. People like us 
whose legs aren’t much good, who have to do a 
lot of sitting all by ourselves, we can see peo- 
ple’s souls. Maybe your father and your 
mother and your brothers can’t. They’re stir- 
ring around too much. But people like you 
and me that have time to sit and watch, we get 
by and by so we can see people’s souls.” 

“ Can you see mine? ” asked Eddie, awed. 

“ Sure I can,” old Jonas asserted. 

“ What’s it like? ” 

“ A fine, straight, upstanding one it was till 
this afternoon, when you got to thinking a lot 
of bad thoughts. That bent it considerable. 
As I see it now it’s all over to one side. Maybe 
you can get it straightened out again if you’ll 
try to remember all the kind things your mother 
does for you, and how nice your dad is to you. 
And that Sweeney boy — what name did you 
say—?” 

“ Froggie.” 

“You’ve got to quit envying that big lummax 
, of a Froggie Sweeney that doesn’t know half 
as much as you do. What if he can run faster 
f than you? — he doesn’t know anything about 
Gettysburg. Which would you rather be, 


A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY 19 


lame in the leg, or lame in the head like he is?” 

“ I’d rather not be lame in the head,” said 
Eddie very soberly, as he began to realize the 
possibility of there being worse things the mat- 
ter with you than a leg in braces. 

“ And now, young man,” said Jonas, “ you’d 
better be getting home or you’ll be bending 
your soul some more by being late for sup- 
per.” 

“ That’s right,” said Eddie, getting up with 
a start as he noticed how near sunset it was. 
4 4 Good-by, and thank you very much.” 

“ Good-by,” old Jonas called after him. 
“ And remember, don’t mind what folks say 
about your leg. Just you sit and watch, and 
pretty soon you’ll be able to see people’s souls 
and tell what shape they are.” 

44 Why, Eddie dear, where have you been? ” 
Mrs. Randall asked anxiously as he took his 
seat at the table where the rest of the family had 
long been gathered. 44 Mother has been worry- 
ing about her boy.” 

She brushed back his hair with a little gesture 
of affection as she spoke, surreptitiously feeling 
his forehead, for the feverish excitement in his 
eyes as he entered had made her fearful of ap- 
proaching illness. As always with mothers, 


20 ' “ LIMPY ” 

her little lame chick was the one nearest her 
heart. 

The touch of her cool hand and the loving 
kindness in her tones brought a great lump to 
the throat of the poor, tired, overwrought child. 
A wave of shame sent the color to his cheeks. 
To think that he ever could have doubted her, 
or questioned her affection for him ! 

“ Just down street,” he answered her. It 
was all he could manage to say. He wanted 
to tell her, to tell all of them, about the won- 
derful old man he had discovered who hadn’t 
any leg at all, who could see people’s souls. It 
was on his lips to speak, yet a dread of ridicule 
— a vague fear that they might not understand 
because they did not sit still enough — held him 
back, and, wise mother that she was, Mrs. Ran- 
dall read in his face something that forbade 
further questions. 

“ Here, young man,” his dad called out, “ is 
a walker for you.” 

New turmoil started in the boy’s repentant 
heart at this announcement. Both his brothers 
liked the leg of the chicken. It was a family 
joke that the farmers ought to raise three- 
legged chickens for the Randalls. All of a 
sudden it came to Eddie that Dad always saved 


A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY 21 


a leg for him, even when he was late, making 
the other boys take turn about. Dad must 
love him almost as much as Mother did. 

“ Say, Ed,” Tom announced in affectionate 
tones, “ the stamps came — dandy ones. We’ll 
look them over after supper, and divide. Dick 
doesn’t want any, so you can have half.” 

Too choked for utterance, Eddie beamed his 
thanks. His oldest brother a few days before, 
with money earned cutting a neighbor’s grass, 
had answered an advertisement, “ 800 foreign 
stamps, all different, for twenty-five cents.” 
Eddie had just started an album, and as his 
opportunities for earning spending money were 
less than those of his brothers, had felt discour- 
aged at his slow progress. He had never 
dreamed of such munificence as this. The best 
he had hoped for was that a few discarded 
duplicates might fall to his lot. 

With heart full and eyes swimming he busied 
himself with his plate. How good they all 
were to him! What beautiful shapes their 
souls must have. Shyly he studied each one 
of them in turn. He wished he knew where to 
look. He wondered in what part of a person’s 
body the soul was. He must ask the one- 
legged man the next time he saw him. He al- 


22 


“ LIMPY ” 


always had thought of a person’s soul as being 
in their head, somewhere back of the eyes. 
Maybe, though, it was down where your heart 
is. He was sure there was nothing in the 
physiology about it. He wished he knew for 
certain. 

Even though the conversation turned on to- 
morrow’s hike, he was too grateful to resent be- 
ing left out of it. And then, to cap the climax, 
he heard Richard saying: 

“ Out there by Bear Pond I know where 
there’s a lot of sassafras growing. I’m going 
to take an old kitchen knife along and dig a lot 
of roots, and bring them home to you, Eddie.” 

Oh, how good they all were to him! They 
were always thinking of nice things to do for 
him. How could he ever have been so ungrate- 
ful? No wonder the one-legged man said his 
soul was bent. Mechanically he reached out 
his hand to the biscuit plate. 

“ Wait a minute, Eddie,” Maggie, the cook, 
called out from the pantry door. 4 ‘I’ve got a 
couple I was keeping hot for you out in the 
kitchen.” 

Even Maggie, black Maggie, was nice to 
him ! He wondered what her soul looked like. 
Did black people have black souls? It must 


A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY 23 

be a nice shape, he decided, even if it was black. 
He eyed her solemnly and thoughtfully as she 
handed him the biscuit, pondering over the 
problem, although in his new mood of grati- 
tude toward all the world he remembered to 
say, “ Thank you.” 

All the rest of the evening, even when en- 
gaged in the absorbing occupation of dividing 
the stamps, he kept studying the family. He 
could not discover anything about any of them 
that looked like a soul. If only he had asked 
the one-legged man where to look. Perhaps 
mother would know. He waited until bed- 
time came to ask her. Always after he had 
unstrapped his brace and had put on his 
nightie, mother would come into his room. 
With cool, skillful fingers, she would massage 
his poor aching leg till all the dreadful pain 
from the iron that clamped it had vanished. 
Tonight as she bent over him he began to re- 
member all the kind things she did for him — 
in fact for all of them. She never forgot how 
he liked his oatmeal, the cream first and then 
the sugar — “ so you could see it.” It was she 
who brought him interesting books from the li- 
brary. It was she who gave him dimes for do- 
ing little household tasks with which his lame- 


24 


“ LIMPY “ 


ness did not interfere, thereby enabling him to 
compete with his more active brothers who were 
always earning money somehow. It was she 
who mended his clothes, who tied his necktie, 
who rubbed his leg every night, w r ho made the 
desserts he liked, who helped him plan games 
that he could play by himself when he had to 
rest. It was she who doctored his bruises when 
he stumbled and fell — and that, poor chap, was 
several times a day. Mother, he thought, must 
have a wonderfully beautiful soul. It must be 
round, just like a shiny gold piece. How he 
did wish he could see the shape of mother’s soul. 

“ Mother,” he asked, “ where is your soul? ” 

“Why, you funny boy!” she answered. 
“ It’s inside of you, of course.” 

“ Yes, but w 7 here? ” 

Mrs. Randall was puzzled for a reply. This 
small son of hers often asked her questions that 
were hard to answer. 

“ You can not see the soul,” she said finally, 
“ so no one knows just where it is.” 

“ Oh, yes, you can,” Eddie affirmed. 
“ Some people can see people’s souls.” 

Accustomed ordinarily to accept his mother’s 
word as final, the boy suddenly recalled what 
the one-legged man had said. Seeing souls was 


A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY 25 


a gift that came to people who had to sit still — 
“ to people like us.” Mother was occupied all 
day long doing so many things for all of them. 
She never had time to sit still and watch. 
Poor, busy, kind mother probably never had 
had a chance to see people’s souls. Maybe it 
would not be nice of him to ask her any more 
about it. She might not understand. 

He lay so silent that his mother thought he 
had fallen asleep. Pressing a soft kiss on his 
forehead she tiptoed away, leaving him to lie 
awake in the darkness, wondering what was the 
shape of her soul, and wishing he could see it. 
And somewhere on the borderland of sleep — 
he remembered it so vaguely the next morning 
he feared it might have been only a dream — he 
had a vision of his mother bending over him, 
and all around her head, making a wonderful 
light in her eyes, was a great golden halo that 
he knew must be her soul. 

“ Oh, mother, mother, I can see it,” he was 
sure he had cried out, but maybe he only 
dreamed he had spoken. 

“ You can’t imagine what Eddie asked me to- 
night,” Mrs. Randall said as she joined her hus- 
band. “ He wanted to know in what part of 
your body your soul is,” 


26 


“ LIMPY ” 


“ Kids get funny notions/’ said Mr. Randall 
carelessly. “ I hope it doesn’t rain tomor- 
row.” 

As a matter of fact, he was thinking neither 
about Eddie’s question nor about the weather. 
Something far more important was occupying 
his mind. He had been debating whether or 
not to tell his wife about it, and while she was 
upstairs he had reached the conclusion that it 
would be better to keep it from her until it was 
settled. 

It was an old, old problem he was facing. 
His practise as a lawyer gave him an income 
that was barely enough to feed and clothe and 
shelter his family. Mixing in politics in the 
hope of expanding his opportunities, he had 
been elected a councilman on a reform ticket. 
Close on the heels of his election had come an 
invitation to become one of the attorneys of the 
principal railroad that passed through the 
town. One of the planks in the platform on 
which he had run had been a demand for the 
abolition of grade crossings. The reason the 
position had been offered to him was as plain 
as two times two. “ Yet,” he was arguing with 
himself, “ as counsel for the railroad I probably 
can do more toward abolishing grade crossings 


A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY 27 


than otherwise. I can fight better from within 
than from without. Besides, a man’s first duty 
is to his family. I give my services to the city 
and am under no obligation to refuse four thou- 
sand a year.” 

Four thousand a year! That, in addition to 
his present earnings, would enable them to live 
much more comfortably. It would make it 
possible to send the boys to a good school, and 
later to college. He could even afford to buy 
his wife an automobile. Certainly she was en- 
titled to it after all these weary years she had 
had of struggling to make ends meet. There 
had not been much pleasure in her life with 
those three boys to take care of. Yes, it was 
his duty to try to make things easier for her. 
Bother the ethics of the matter ! Other men in 
public life did similar things and much more 
flagrant things, and got away with it. Why 
shouldn’t he? 

Then there was Eddie, poor little chap! 
With this addition to their income they could 
take him to see that great New York doctor 
who was making such marvelous cures of cases 
just like Eddie’s. It would be worse than 
wrong to let the boy go limping through life if 
a cure could be effected. He must get the 


28 “ LIMPY ” 

money to give Eddie his chance, and get it he 
would. 

But potent as were these arguments a con- 
science begot of ten generations of Presby- 
terian ancestors, and fortified by fifteen years 
of happy marriage with a good woman — good 
all through — gave Randall no peace. 

“ At any rate,” he consoled himself, “ I don’t 
have to give my answer until next Friday. 
It’ll be time enough to tell her then.” 

If Mrs. Randall heretofore had been a 
woman of many cares, from this time on she 
had double worry. Her motherly intuition told 
her that two of her boys — the oldest, as she was 
accustomed to call her husband — and Ed- 
die, both had something on their minds and both 
were keeping it from her, a most unusual pro- 
ceeding. Several times she tried to draw Ran- 
dall out, but he rejected her invitations to make 
a confidante of her. 

And Eddie worried her still more. He 
seemed to have given up all hope of playing 
with the other boys. Day after day she found 
him sitting silent on the floor, his gaze fixed 
intently on her, or on some other member of the 
family. At times she heard him talking aloud 
to himself. She could not hear what he was 


A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY 29 


saying although she thought it was something 
about “ a round one.” He had developed the 
habit of being mysteriously missing for two or 
three hours at a time. All she could get out of 
him when she questioned him as to where he 
had been was the same answer, “ Just down 
street.” 

Yet the little lame boy never suspected for a 
moment that he was causing his mother any 
anxiety. He was wholly absorbed in the new 
game he was learning, endeavoring to see peo- 
ple’s souls. Each day he managed to pay a 
visit to the one-legged man; they had become 
fast friends. 

“ It’s no use,” he said despondently to old 
Jonas. “ I’ve tried and tried, and I never can 
see anything.” 

“ Keep on trying,” responded the old phil- 
osopher. 

“ How long? ” 

“ How long did it take you to learn to read? 
I’ll venture you was a good part of a year 
learning that, or maybe two years. T’ain’t 
hard to learn to read, is it? Any one can do 
that. There’s only a few of us that can see 
people’s souls — folks like you and me, that 
have to sit still a lot — and naturally it’s hard to 


30 


“ LIMPY ” 


learn how to do it, but keep at it and some day 
it will come to you just like that. Have you 
never seen nothing at all with all your look- 
ing?” 

“ I think,” said Eddie gravely, “ that one 
night I saw my mother’s soul. Maybe I 
dreamed it. It was a shiny golden circle all 
around her head.” 

“ It was no dream,” old Jonas affirmed sol- 
emnly. “ I’ll warrant you really saw it. 
That’s what mothers’ souls are like, all round 
and golden and shiny. And it’s little lame 
boys like you that sees them best. You’ve seen 
your mother’s soul for sure.” 

The more Eddie thought about it the more 
firmly he became convinced that he really had 
seen the shape of mother’s soul. But what 
was his father’s like, and those of his two 
brothers? As he studied Tom and Dick he 
came to the conclusion that theirs must be some- 
thing like his own, nice straight ones, but apt 
to get bent out of shape every now and then; 
but the shape of father’s soul was a puzzle. It 
was a fascinating subject, and every evening 
after father came home, until bedtime, Eddie’s 
eyes hardly left his father’s face. 

“ Have you noticed anything strange about 


A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY 31 


Eddie?” Mrs. Randall asked her husband one 
evening after the boys were in bed, her voice 
almost breaking with anxiety. 

“ Why, no. What’s the matter with 
him? ” 

“ I can’t find out. He just sits around all 
day staring at people, and sometimes talking 
aloud to himself. You don’t suppose that his 
— lameness — and his suffering — could — 
could — be affecting his mind.” 

“ Don’t be silly! Of course not,” Mr. Ran- 
dall reassured her. 

Randall was busy just then with his own 
problem. Brace, the head counsel of the rail- 
road, had phoned that he would be out to see 
him tomorrow to learn his decision. He had 
suggested making the appointment at Ran- 
dall’s home. 

“ It’s just as well not to have our meeting at- 
tract any attention,” Brace had said, and Ran- 
dall had assented, even though he recognized 
at once the sinister significance of not making 
their meeting too public. 

He realized that this was his last opportunity 
to consult his wife before making his decision. 
While he kept telling himself that he had not 
yet made up his mind, he knew he was going to 


32 


“ LIMPY ” 


accept. Four thousand a year more meant so 
much to all of them ! He was doing it, he told 
himself, to provide the funds to get Eddie’s leg 
cured. Weren’t his wife’s happiness and his 
boy’s health above all other considerations? 
What was the use of bothering his wife about 
it until it was settled? She was worried now 
about Eddie. Why worry her more ? 

“ I’ll be home about four tomorrow after- 
noon,” he said. “ I’m going to meet a Mr. 
Brace here.” 

“ Is that so? ” replied Mrs. Randall absently. 
She was thinking about her little lame boy, and 
hardly heard what her husband said. 

Randall smoked on in silence, half hoping, 
half fearing that she would question him about 
Brace; but nothing further was said. 

Eddie happened to be on the porch when his 
father arrived home the next afternoon, and 
recalling his wife’s anxiety, Randall studied his 
son with unusual interest, and asked him ques- 
tions, observing with some relief that the 
boy’s intelligent answers gave no evidence of 
mental perturbation. In the midst of their 
conversation an automobile stopped at the 
gate. 

“ Now run away, son,” he said, “ here comes 


A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY 33 


a man with whom Dad has some business to 
talk.” 

With no thought of being an eavesdropper, 
Eddie didn’t run away. He settled himself 
down on a hassock behind a porch chair. Here 
was an opportunity not to be neglected. He 
seldom had a chance to observe Dad while he 
was talking business. Perhaps it would be a 
good time to see his soul. He settled himself 
to watch, as his father and the visitor seated 
themselves. 

He did not listen to the conversation. He 
would not have understood it if he had. With 
the clear vision of childhood, however, he 
sensed that the man was urging Dad to do 
something that Dad didn’t want to do. As the 
boy studied the visitor’s face something told 
him that this man had an ugly soul. He 
strained his eyes trying to see it, and failing, 
turned once more to study his father’s face. 
Perhaps it was only that his sight was blurred 
from his strained staring in the sunlight, but he 
was certain he saw a vapory halo about his 
father’s head, saw it losing its circular shape 
and beginning to send out angry, distorted 
k tongues that twisted this way and that. Some 
unrestrainable impulse sent him scrambling to 


84 “ LIMPY ” 

his feet. “ Oh, Dad! ” he shrilled, “ your soul’s 
all crooked! ” 

Just what happened after that he never could 
quite remember. He knew that both men had 
sprung to their feet. Dad had shouted “ No! ” 
in the man’s face, and the man had gone away, 
and he found himself gathered into Dad’s arms 
in a big, comfy chair on the porch. He had 
found himself explaining it all to Dad, how 
the one-legged man had said that people who 
had to sit still a lot by and by got so that they 
could see people’s souls, and how he had tried 
to see if he could. He had seen mother’s, and 
it was round and golden and beautiful. He 
had been trying and trying, he explained, to see 
Dad’s, and he never had been able to until then 
when Dad and the man were talking. 

“ And it is true, Dad,” he concluded; ££ you 
can see people’s souls if you look for them.” 

££ It certainly is, son, but, please God, you’ll 
never see mine crooked again! ” 

But even to those who have the gift of see- 
ing souls there remains much mystery in life. 
Eddie doesn’t understand yet why mother wept 
that night as she rubbed his leg. 

He asked her, and she said it was because two 
of her boys had made her so happy that eve- 


A WONDERFUL DISCOVERY 85 


ning. But if she was happy why did she weep ? 
It was too big a problem for Eddie. 

“ I’ll ask the one-legged man about it to- 
morrow, ’’ he said to himself as he fell asleep. 


CHAPTER TWO 


MAINLY ABOUT WOMEN 

I T lacked half an hour of school-time. The 
three Randall boys, Tom, Richard, and 
Eddie, always looking more spick and span at 
this time than during the rest of the day, 
sprawled in easy if ungraceful attitudes on the 
front porch steps, were discussing a portentous 
event in boydom of the day before. 

“ ’Course,’’ said Tom decisively, “ there’s 
times when a feller’s just got to fight.” 

“Sure,” Richard corroborated, “lots of 
times.” 

“ You’d never fight, though, would you, 
Tom?” queried Eddie. 

“ You can just betcher life I would,” Tom 
asserted. 

“ And me, too,” echoed Richard. 

Wide-eyed with wonder, little Edward 
Haverford Randall listened to his brothers’ as- 
tounding declaration. Time after time he had 
heard both of them promise their mother that 
they never would fight. She had not asked 


MAINLY ABOUT WOMEN 37 


Eddie for a similar promise. He was different 
from other boys. “ It ” made the difference, a 
poor, undeveloped leg that required a cruel iron 
brace to support it, a lame leg that kept him 
from running and jumping and swimming as 
other boys did, a hideous, ever-present grief 
that was responsible for all the boys of his ac- 
quaintance, all but his own brothers, calling him 
ever by the unwelcome name of “ Limpy.” 
Even Tom, and Richard sometimes forgot and 
let the hated nickname slip out before they 
thought. Eddie knew, of course, that they 
never did it on purpose, and he always tried to 
pretend that he did not mind it in the least, es- 
pecially since old Jonas Tucker had expounded 
his theory that the shape of people’s bodies 
didn’t matter, as it was only the shape of their 
souls that counted. 

“ What’s a feller going to do,” Tom con- 
tinued, “when another feller dares him? A 
feller can’t take a dare unless he’s a coward.” 

“ ’T’sright,” assented Richard. “And if he 
calls your mother a nasty name, what’s a feller 
going to do? He’s just got to fight.” 

“ But,” protested Eddie, “ you both prom- 
ised mother you never would fight. I heard 
you promise.” 


38 


“ LIMPY ” 


“ Aw, forget it,” said Tom. “ Women don’t 
understand things.” 

“ ’T’sright,” said Richard. “ There’s lots of 
things women don’t know nothing about. 
When they ask you to promise, it’s always best 
to say yes to keep them from worrying. You 
never hear Dad asking a fellow not to fight.” 

“ I’ll bet he had lots and lots of fights when he 
was a kid,” added Tom. “ I heard him and S. 
T. Elwell talking about a fight they had at 
school. They didn’t know I was listening. It 
must ’a’ been some scrap to hear them tell it.” 

From far down the street came a familiar 
sound, “ Wheep-hu-hu-hu-wheep-hu-hu! ” 

It was the whistled call of the Randall boys’ 
gang. It meant that Four-eyed Smith, or 
Fatty Bullen, or Froggie Sweeney had left his 
domicile and was in search of congenial com- 
pany to while away the moments before the 
school-bell rang. 

With an answering “ Wheep-hu-hu-hu- 
wheep-hu-hu,” Tom and Richard scrambled to 
their feet and dashed off. 

Eddie, left all alone, as often happened, 
began to hobble slowly off toward school. 
Though it took him twice as long as it took the 
other boys to walk the four blocks, he never was 


MAINLY ABOUT WOMEN 89 


late. Tom and Richard, no matter from where 
or how soon they started, always seemed to ar- 
rive on the last tap of the bell — sometimes a 
moment or two after it. Eddie had never been 
marked tardy in his life. School was one of his 
greatest pleasures. In the class-room, at least, 
he could compete with his fellows on equal 
terms. There, his crippled leg didn’t matter. 

On this particular morning, Eddie’s mind 
was busy with a new train of thought. His 
brothers’ boldly proclaimed heresy that women 
didn’t understand things seemed to him revo- 
lutionary, unbelievable, impossible. Hitherto 
he always had felt that mother understood 
everything about everything. Yet now, as he 
began to ponder over the matter, he did not feel 
quite so sure. He recalled that when he had 
tried to explain to her old Jonas’s theories 
about the shape of people’s souls, she had not 
seemed inclined to take much stock in them. 
Still, Eddie, down in his heart, felt positive 
that old Jonas was right. Perhaps women 
didn’t always understand things. 

The seeds of doubt sown by his brothers’ re- 
marks began to take root. The boy began 
nibbling for the first time at the fruit of the 
tree of knowledge. Even though it made him 


40 


“ LIMPY ” 


feel vaguely unhappy, he kept on trying to 
analyze his world in this new aspect. Mothers, 
he knew from experience, understood what 
boys liked to eat. Mothers understood how to 
bandage cut fingers and to massage tired legs. 
Still, he could not help remembering that he 
often had heard mother, his own dear kind 
mother, say, “ You’d better ask father.” 

He could not recall that she ever had said it 
to him. It must have been to his brothers that 
she had used the words. He racked his brains 
trying to remember what she had said it about. 
It must have been about something she did not 
understand. What was it? He wished he 
could remember. 

He thought, too, about Miss Lizzie McGuf- 
fey, his teacher. Could it be possible that there 
were some things she didn’t understand? He 
eyed her curiously as he entered the schoolroom, 
for here, at least in one respect, he was a privi- 
leged character. He never had to wait and 
march in with the others. On account of his 
lameness, he was permitted to enter whenever 
he arrived. 

Often in these few minutes before school he 
and Miss McGuffey had delightful little chats. 
Ordinarily timid and shy in the presence of 


MAINLY ABOUT WOMEN 41 


others, Eddie, when alone with her, asked her 
questions about things not made quite clear to 
him in class. Surely Miss McGuffey must un- 
derstand everything. She never had failed 
him. 

As Eddie entered, the teacher was busy at 
her desk and beyond a cheery “ Good morning, 
Eddie,” she did not seem disposed to talk. 
J ust as well pleased, for he was still busy pon- 
dering over his freshly gained aspect of life, 
the boy made his way to his seat and rested 
there thoughtfully, solemnly eying Miss Mc- 
Guffey and wondering if there really was 
anything she didn’t know or didn’t under- 
stand. Little could he suspect that at that 
very moment his goddess of knowledge was 
busily cramming up on the day’s geography 
lesson. 

Soon the other pupils filed in, and the day’s 
routine began. It was one of those ever- 
dreaded trouble-days every teacher learns to 
expect occasionally. Perhaps it was because 
Miss McGuffey had been up late the night be- 
fore, and the youngsters subconsciously recog- 
nized her panicky state of unpreparedness; 
perhaps it was because the backs of the seats 
were not scientifically curved. It may have 


42 


“ LIMPY ” 


been the order of the school board preventing 
the opening of the windows, except at recrea- 
tion time, before April twentieth. It may have 
been due to the innate devilishness that at times 
seems suddenly to possess boydom, but, cer- 
tainly, the pupils had hardly seated themselves 
before a subtle whisper of disorder swept over 
the room. Whenever Miss McGuffey’s back 
was turned, notes and paper-wads went flying 
about. Even the star good-conduct pupils 
were caught whispering. None of them 
seemed to know their lessons. Miss McGuf- 
fey’s nerves went to pieces, making her extraor- 
dinarily irritable and curt. 

The climax came shortly before the noon re- 
cess. The “ B ” geography class was called. 
All the members filed up to their places except 
Froggie Sweeney. He had not far to go, for 
Miss McGuffey, for purposes of easy observa- 
tion, had given him a seat well toward the front 
of the room. With all the others astir, Frog- 
gie sat sullenly in his seat. 

“ Sweeney,” said Miss McGuffey sharply, 
“ take your place.” 

The boy did not answer her nor make the 
slightest motion to indicate that he intended to 
obey. 


MAINLY ABOUT WOMEN 43 


“ Sweeney,’’ she repeated, still more sharply, 
“ take your place at once! ”* 

Still the boy made no movement. 

Boys are not given to self-analysis. If 
Froggie had been asked to explain his stub- 
bornness, it is doubtful if he could have done 
so. Let us be charitable and say that under 
the youngster’s unprepossessing exterior and 
rough manners was concealed a sensitive soul, 
a timid spirit that shrank from and resented the 
ridicule that too often fell to his lot when he 
didn’t know his lessons. Probably psychology 
would have found some such logical explana- 
tion as this. All that Froggie knew about it 
was that he had decided “ he wasn’t a-goin’ to,” 
and, having decided, he proposed to stick to 
it. 

Her patience already tried beyond endur- 
ance, Miss McGuffey let pass from her mind 
all she had read on the necessity of gentleness 
in dealing with recalcitrant pupils. She de- 
cided that the terrible Sweeney boy needed dire 
punishment, and needed it immediately. 

4 4 Randall,” she called out, 4 4 go to the princi- 
pal’s room and ask him to come here.” 

Ordinarily such a threat was sufficient to 
make the most mischievous boy behave. She 


44 


LIMP Y ” 


half expected that before the messenger was 
despatched Froggie would be pleading for 
mercy. As it happened, Eddie did not at first 
realize that she was speaking to him. His 
mind was busy just at the moment with the 
commercial products of China, assuring himself 
that he still remembered the lesson studied the 
night before. 

“ Eddie! ” she called out, this time in tones 
more curt and commanding. 

The boy came to himself and stared at her 
uncomprehendingly. “ Yes’m? ” he said. 

“ Go and tell the principal to come here at 
once ! ” 

“ Yes’m,” repeated Eddie obediently, start- 
ing at once to do his errand. But, even as he 
hobbled off, it came to him that it hardly seemed 
fair to make him a participant in another boy’s 
punishment. Often before, Miss McGuffey 
had sent him on errands, but always of some 
pleasant nature. This was different. “ Send- 
ing for the principal ” was the worst punish- 
ment permissible. A teacher might set a bad 
boy to extra lessons, she might keep him in after 
school, she might mark him “ D ” in conduct, 
but beyond this she might not go. “ Sending 
for the principal ” invariably resulted in one of 


MAINLY ABOUT WOMEN 45 


three things, a letter home, a thrashing, or a 
suspension — sometimes all three. 

It seemed to Eddie wrong to involve him in 
the trouble between Miss McGuffey and Frog- 
gie Sweeney. Going to summon the principal 
seemed, somehow, to partake of “ tattling.” 
He wished that he did not have to go. Yet 
there was his own good-conduct record to be 
considered. If he should refuse to go, un- 
doubtedly the teacher would punish him, too. 
He thought of trying to explain to her his 
feelings about the matter, but, after one glance 
at her flushed, angry face, he decided it would 
be useless. It must be that his brothers were 
right, that women didn’t always understand 
things. 

He started for the door to carry out his mis- 
sion. As he passed the desk at which Froggie 
sat, sullen and glowering, head down and hands 
in pockets, a shrill whisper reached him : 

“ I’ll git you for this after school. I’ll git 
you, Limpy. See if I don’t.” 

It was a terrified little cripple who made his 
way to Professor Phillips’s room and timidly 
knocked. It was all he could do to find voice 
to deliver his message. He was in such a panic 
of fright that he hardly knew how he found his 


46 


“ LIMPY ” 


way back to the schoolroom and to his place in 
the class. Even the spectacle of Froggie, still 
sullen and defiant, being dragged from the 
room by the muscular principal seemed only 
a confused memory. 

Eddie, hitherto protected by his weakness, 
now for the first time in his life had been threat- 
ened with physical violence. However remiss 
Froggie might be in his attention to school 
duties, in the world outside he had a far dif- 
ferent reputation. When Froggie Sweeney 
announced his intention of “ gittin’ ” a fellow, 
the fellow was “ got.” Froggie’s pugilistic 
abilities and achievements were the envy of his 
mates. 

Often and often Eddie had heard the matter 
discussed by his admiring brothers. There 
was no doubt in his mind as to the meaning of 
Froggie’s threat. Froggie intended to “ lick ” 
him. What should he do about it? 

It was a terribly perplexing problem that 
confronted him. Suppose Froggie found him, 
and he tried to run away? Froggie would 
quickly overtake him. Suppose he tried to give 
battle? What chance had he against a boy 
head and shoulders taller, and experienced in 
fighting. And, besides, his mother disap- 


MAINLY ABOUT WOMEN 47 


proved of boys’ fighting. Even if he did try to 
fight back, how grieved she would be with him ! 
And, besides and beyond all this, he was afraid, 
afraid of being struck and pommeled. The 
very thought of it sickened him. Never in all 
his life had any one struck him or whipped him. 

As he left the schoolroom at the noon recess, 
he was trembling with fear, shuddering at the 
thought of the peril that he faced on the jour- 
ney home. 

“ What’s the matter, Eddie, are you ill? ” 
Miss McGuffey called after him as she caught 
a glimpse of his white, troubled face. 

“ Nothing,” he stammered bravely. What- 
ever happened, he would not tell her. He felt 
that she wouldn’t understand. Down in his 
heart, too, he had still another vague, hardly 
realized sensation — a feeling that, somehow, 
Froggie had almost the right to punish him. 

Still, the prospect of going home alone ap- 
palled him. He thought at first of seeking the 
protection of his brothers. Tom and Richard, 
he knew, would not let any one hurt him. 
With some idea of invoking their aid as allies, 
he waited until the pupils from their respective 
rooms came trooping out. His brothers 
passed close by him, but something sealed his 


48 


“ LIMPY 


lips. Without a word to them he watched 
them scamper off with their mates. Perhaps it 
was that in his mind there dwelt some of the 
boydom talk he had so often heard about “ no 
feller ought ever to be a coward and a quitter.” 
Perhaps it was that in his trembling body there 
resided a far more valiant soul than ever its 
possessor suspected. 

After nearly all the boys had vanished, Ed- 
die set out for home. Froggie was nowhere to 
be seen. From scraps of conversation, Eddie 
gathered that the defiant pupil had “ got licked 
and got sent home, too.” Whatever had hap- 
pened, he felt sure that Froggie would keep his 
word and would be waiting to waylay him. 

He had passed two blocks in safety with no 
signs of the enemy. Home was now only a lit- 
tle distance away. A short cut through Mc- 
Millan’s Alley and one more block, and he 
would be safe in his own yard. He began to 
breathe more freely. He felt that he was al- 
most safe. But, as he turned into the alley, his 
heart sank, and his mouth became suddenly 
dry. 

There in the middle of the alley, where he 
would be less likely to be observed from either 
street, stood an irate, revengeful Froggie, hair 


MAINLY ABOUT WOMEN 49 


tousled and eyes still red as a result of his visit 
to the principal’s room. 

Terrified though he was, Eddie kept right 
on. What else was there to do? He thought 
of running, but what would be the use? 
Handicapped as he was by his crippled leg and 
heavy iron brace, Froggie would overtake him 
before he had gone five yards. He wanted to 
scream for help, but his mouth was so parched 
from fright he could not have uttered a sound 
even if he had tried to do so. Nearer and 
nearer he approached his foe, who stood there 
with fists doubled up, aggressively waiting for 
him. Not until he was within six feet of the 
other boy did Eddie stop. 

Froggie at once bore down on him men- 
acingly. “ Now, Limpy, I got you,” he 
snarled. “ I told you I’d fix you, you teacher’s 
pet, and I’m goin’ to. I’ll teach you to go 
runnin’ to the principal to git him to come and 
lick me.” 

Reveling in the terrifying effect of his tirade 
on the shrinking little figure before him, Frog- 
gie continued with his flow of abuse, wind- 
ing up with a nasty name — the name at which 
Brother Tom had declared “ a feller has just 
got to fight.” 


50 


LIMPY ” 


Quick as a flash, Limpy drew from the book- 
strap he was carrying a brass-edged ruler, and, 
mustering all his strength, slashed with it at 
Froggie’s cheek. The blow caught the bully 
unprepared. The sharp edge cut into the 
cheek, leaving a long, vicious gash. Froggie 
amazed at the unexpected turn of affairs had 
taken, scared at the sight of his own blood, 
never offered to hit back, but ran bawling out 
of the alley and disappeared. 

Aghast at the dire effect of his blow, Eddie 
staggered about dizzily for a second and then 
collapsed utterly. For several minutes he lay 
on the soft turf of the alley, trembling all over, 
weak from the unusual exertion, and still 
frightened — oh, so frightened! 

But no longer was he afraid of Froggie. 
The bubble of the young pugilist’s prowess had 
been forever pricked so far as Eddie was con- 
cerned. No, it was not Froggie that he feared 
now. He was afraid for himself. He, Ed- 
ward Haverford Randall, whose mother sternly 
disapproved of fighting, had been fighting. 
He, the star good-conduct pupil of his room, 
had fought with another boy and had laid his 
cheek open. 

What would mother say to him? What 


MAINLY ABOUT WOMEN 51 


would she do to him? Would she, could she, 
ever forgive him ? 

And what if Froggie died? That cut on 
Froggie’s cheek now seemed to Eddie to have 
been a frightful one. The blood had poured 
out all over Froggie’s clothes. Some of it even 
had discolored the grass there in the alley. Ed- 
die looked at the splotch, where a moment ago 
Froggie had been standing, and shuddered. 
Suppose the blow from the ruler had cut an 
artery, and Froggie bled to death? Most 
likely he would be arrested for murder. They 
would come and take him away and lock him 
up in prison, and by and by, maybe, they would 
hang him. 

With a depressing sense of blood-guilt 
weighing down his soul, he painfully gathered 
up his books and hobbled homeward. He 
felt all wobbly in his stomach, and his head 
ached. He was still trembling all over, but 
was somewhat relieved, when he reached home, 
to learn that mother was out — gone to Aunt 
Kate’s for the day. His brothers, boylike, no- 
ticed nothing unusual in his appearance, but 
Black Maggie, the cook, with kindly eyes al- 
ways for the youngest of the flock, saw that he 
was not himself. 


52 


“ LIMPY ” 


£< Eddie’s stayin’ home dis afternoon,” she 
announced to Tom. 

“ Mother isn’t here to write him an excuse,” 
protested his brother. 

“ Oh, dat’s all right, chile,” said Maggie ; 
“ you see dat Miss McGuffin an’ tell her Master 
Eddie ain’t feelin’ well, an’ that Mis’ Randall 
ain’t home, an’ it’ll be all right.” 

A gleam of hope came to Eddie’s troubled 
mind as his affairs were thus decided for him. 
If he did not have to go to school in the after- 
noon, it would give him an opportunity to slip 
away and see the old soldier before his mother 
arrived home, tell him the whole story, and ask 
for his advice. 

He felt far too excited and upset to eat any 
luncheon, and, right afterward, Maggie made 
him lie down on the sofa in the dining-room and 
pulled down all the blinds. He lay there 
quietly until his brothers were off to school and 
Maggie had gone out into the back-yard to 
hang up the wash. Then, slipping quietly out 
of the house and keeping well out of her sight, 
he headed down the street and found old Jonas 
sitting, with chair tilted back, in front of his 
tobacco shop. 

“ Well, well,” said old Jonas, as he ap- 


MAINLY ABOUT WOMEN 53 


proached, “ what’s this? Eddie Randall play- 
ing hookey? ” 

“No — not exactly,” the boy replied. 
“ You see, Maggie thought I was sick and made 
me stay home from school.” 

“ And wasn’t you sick? ” 

“ I didn’t feel so very well.” 

“ What’s the matter — been trying to 
smoke? ” 

“No. I had been fighting.” Even Eddie 
himself marveled at the thrill of pride he felt as 
he made the announcement. 

“ You don’t tell me,” exclaimed old Jonas. 
“ And did ye lick or get licked? ” 

Thus encouraged, Eddie, starting from the 
very beginning, told the old veteran the whole 
story of his encounter with Froggie Sweeney, 
winding up with the question, “Do you think 
it was very wicked for me to hit him with the 
ruler?” 

“ It certainly was not,” pronounced old 
Jonas. “ You done exactly right. I only 
wisht I’d been there to give him another one for 
you.” 

“ But supposing Froggie dies? ” 

“ Humph ! he won’t die. It takes more than 
a cut on the cheek to kill a tough young nut 


54 


LIMPY ” 


like Froggie Sweeney. Look at that and 
that,” said the old man, pointing to two great 
scars, one on his head and one on his left hand. 
“ I got them both when I was a boy, and I’ll 
warrant they was worse cuts than you give 
Froggie. You can see they didn’t kill me.” 

“ But,” questioned Eddie, “ what’ll mother 
say about it? She doesn’t believe in boys’ 
fighting. She’s made my brothers promise her 
never to fight.” 

“ Need you be telling her? ” 

“ I always tell her everything.” 

“ That’s right,” said Jonas, nodding his head 
sagely; “ always tell your mother everything. 
It’s a good way for a boy to go through life. 
Still, you never can tell how women-folk will 
take what you tell them. If I was you, I’d tell 
my father first, and let him tell her if he sees 
fit. You see, Eddie, women don’t understand 
things.” 

Eddie gasped, marveling at this confirmation 
of his brothers’ opinion. 

“ Women and men are different,” old Jonas 
went on. “ A man’s life is mostly made up 
of fighting. He’s got to fight to make a place 
for himself in the world. He’s got to fight his 
own bad habits and bad thoughts. He’s got 


MAINLY ABOUT WOMEN 55 


to fight the people that try to impose on him. 
If he hasn’t learned how to fight and when to 
fight while he’s still a boy, he’s got a lot of lick- 
ings coming to him when he’s growed up. 
There’s lots of men makes failures in life be- 
cause, as boys, they never learned how to fight. 

“You see, Eddie, women don’t know much 
about fighting. Most of them never have to do 
much of it. Their men, their fathers and 
brothers and husbands, yes, and sometimes their 
sons, too, do their fighting for them. The 
women-folk are the peacemakers of the world, 
the angels of mercy that bind up the wounds 
of the men-folk when they’ve been fighting. 
Women see only the brutality of fighting and 
the hurts it gives the ones they love, and few of 
them ever get the why of it. That’s why 
women don’t like fighting. Women don’t un- 
derstand things.” f 

Strangely comforted by his talk with old 
Jonas, Eddie, as he went homeward, felt, never- 
theless, that his world was falling to pieces. 
He had been so sure that his mother and Miss 
McGuffey knew everything about everything. 
Already he had put Miss McGuffey in the 
doubtful class. But wasn’t mother still en- 
titled to his full confidence? He felt, some- 


56 


“ LIMPY ” 


how, that he would just have to tell her about 
having fought Froggie. 

And yet, if he did tell her, she would be so 
angry and so grieved with him. Perhaps she 
would never forgive him or trust him again. 
Probably she would cry. If he didn’t tell her 
himself, there was little likelihood of her ever 
hearing about it. Tom and Richard, he was 
sure, never would tell on him. Should he or 
shouldn’t he confess his crime? He could not 
make up his mind. 

Reaching home before his mother, all after- 
noon and evening until bedtime he avoided her 
as much as he could, trying to attract as little 
attention to himself as possible. In answer to 
her questions about his illness, he said truth- 
fully that he had had a headache, that Maggie 
had kept him home from school, had made him 
lie down, and that he felt all right now. The 
longer he put off his confession, the more de- 
termined he became not to make it. It would 
only worry and grieve his mother to know about 
it. What was the use of telling her? No, he 
decided, he would not tell her at all. 

As he kissed his father good night and went 
up-stairs to bed, his mind was firmly made up. 
The longer he kept his secret, the easier it 


MAINLY ABOUT WOMEN 57 

seemed to keep. But, as lie lay in his nightie, 
with mother’s kind fingers massaging his 
aching leg, a sudden revulsion of feeling came 
over him. He just must tell. He couldn’t 
keep anything from mother. She was always 
so good, so kind to him. 

“ Mother,” he blurted out, “ I was fighting 
today.” 

“ What! ” she cried in astonishment. 

“ I was fighting today,” he repeated, amazed 
to observe that she seemed more curious than 
angry. 

“ Tell mother about it, dear,” she said softly. 

Wondering that she still called him “ dear,” 
he told the story. “ Miss McGuffey sent me 
for the principal, ’cause Froggie Sweeney 
wouldn’t go to class. Froggie whispered that 
he’d get me after school, and he was waiting for 
me in McMillan’s Alley as I was coming home. 
He was going to hit me, and I up and slashed 
at him with my ruler and cut his cheek open, 
and he ran away crying.” 

“ Oh, my darling, brave, little boy,” his 
mother cried, gathering him into her arms. 
“ Mother’s own little hero. Tell me, Eddie 
dear, you are sure he didn’t hit you or hurt 
you? ” 


58 


“ LIMPY ” 


“ No’m,” said Eddie. “ I hit him before he 
had a chance to hit me.” 

“ Oh, that horrid Sweeney boy!” she ex- 
claimed. “ You’re quite sure he didn’t hurt 
you? That Sweeney boy must be punished. 
I’m going right down-stairs and tell your 
father.” 

Eddie couldn’t understand it at all. He 
had been so certain his mother would be angry 
at him and would scold him and would ask him 
to promise never to fight again! Yet here she 
was, calling him her darling and her hero, and 
it was Froggie she seemed to be angry at, not 
him. He could hear her now down-stairs, tell- 
ing father how that brute of a Sweeney boy had 
attacked Eddie, and how Eddie, brave little 
Eddie, had so nobly defended himself. In his 
father’s voice, too, as they discussed it, Eddie 
heard a note of pride. He could not under- 
stand it at all. 

As he fell asleep, Eddie was still wondering. 
Didn’t women understand things? He could 
not decide. Yet early next morning he found 
the answer. He was still dawdling over his 
breakfast in the dining-room. Dad had gone 
to business. Mother was up-stairs making up 
the beds, while Maggie finished the ironing. 


MAINLY ABOUT WOMEN 59 


Tom and Richard were on the front porch. 
Along came Froggie Sweeney. 

“ H’lo.” 

“ H’lo, Froggie.’’ 

“ Where’s Limpy?” Eddie heard him ask. 

“ He’s eating his breakfast.” 

“ I got sompin for him.” 

Eddie abruptly left the table and hobbled to 
to the window, peering out from behind the 
sheltering curtains. 

“ What you got? ” asked Tom curiously, 
wondering at this sudden friendliness. 

“ See this cut,” said Froggie, pointing 
proudly to the mass of adhesive plaster on his 
cheek. 4 ‘Limpy gave it to me. I brung him a 
flag of truce.” 

“ How’d he do it? What is it? ” asked Tom 
and Richard together. 

“ It’s a flag of truce after the battle,” grinned 
Froggie. “ Me an’ Limpy was fightin’ yester- 
day, and, say, he’s the gamest little kid you 
ever saw! ” 

“ What,” exclaimed Tom, “ you and Limpy 
fighting! ” 

“ Sure we was. I was layin’ for him after 
school, pretendin’ I was goin’ to lick him for 
goin’ for the principal, and he ups and hits me 


60 


“ LIMPY 


with his ruler and cuts my cheek open. Ain’t 
he the game little kid, though? ” 

“ He sure is,” chorused his brothers. 

To Eddie, listening, came a new sensation, a 
great thrill of pride in himself. At last he had 
made a place for himself in boydom. He was 
one of them. Froggie Sweeney, Froggie the 
fighter, had called him a game little kid. Life 
took on a new and more joyous aspect. 

“ An’ just to show there’s no hard feelin’s,” 
Froggie went on, “ I’ve brung Limpy one of 
my pet white rabbits.” 

“ Let’s see it.” 

Once again Eddie’s heart almost burst with 
joy and pride. A pet white rabbit ! Just the 
very thing he had been longing for. And 
Froggie had brought it over to give to him. 
Oh, wasn’t life grand and glorious! He just 
must get out there on the porch quick to see it. 
He must tell Froggie, too, that he had no hard 
feelings, either. 

He started for the door, but stopped ab- 
ruptly, as he heard his mother’s voice. She 
had come down-stairs unobserved, and was 
standing in the doorway, looking disparag- 
ingly at the unsuspecting Froggie. 

“ You, Froggie Sweeney,” she was saying 


MAINLY ABOUT WOMEN 61 


angrily, “you get right out of this yard, and 
don’t you ever dare show your face here again. 
And take your rabbit with you. Eddie 
wouldn’t have it. How dare you offer it to 
him after what you did to him yesterday? 
None of my boys ever want to have anything to 
do with you. No, you can’t leave the rabbit. 
We don’t want it. Get out of here !” 

Edward Haver ford Randall gulped down a 
great sigh of disappointment and went slowly 
back to finish his breakfast. He realized now 
that his brothers were right, that old Jonas was 
right. Women don’t understand things. 


CHAPTER THREE 


GIVING AND GETTING 

T HE two of them, old Jonas Tucker, and 
Edward Haverford Randall, aged ten, 
sat, as they were generally to be found in the 
afternoon after school, before old Jonas’s to- 
bacco-shop. Jonas was tilted comfortably 
back in his chair, his leather stump unbuckled 
and propped up beside him close at hand. 
Eddie faced him from the top of an upturned 
dry-goods box. Ever since the first day of 
their acquaintance the boy had had the habit 
of coming to old Jonas with all his troubles. 
Somehow their mutual misfortune seemed to 
the boy to deepen and strengthen the under- 
standing between them. 

Eddie had just been complaining because his 
mother would not let him go off with his 
brothers on a fishing-trip the next day. 

“ You see,” he explained, “ it’s only a mile 
or a mile and a half to Edlow’s Pond, and I 


GIVING AND GETTING 63 


can walk that far easy. I’ve often walked that 
far. Mother said Tom and Richard could go, 
but she wouldn’t let me go.” 

“ What do you s’pose she’s keeping you 
home for? ” asked Jonas quizzically. 4 4 Just to 
be mean? ” 

“ Oh, no! It’s nothing like that,” Eddie re- 
plied quickly. “ I suppose she’s afraid I’d get 
tired or get hurt or something.” 

“ W ell, what of it? Maybe there’ll be more 
fun in staying than going.” 

“ I don’t see how that could be.” 

“ Well, you see,” explained Jonas, “ fun is 
all in the way you look at things. There’s a 
lot more happiness in giving than in getting; 
yet most people are so busy trying to get things 
for themselves that they never find it out.” 

“ But don’t you like to have people give you 
things? ” 

“Yes and no,” said old Jonas. “Fact is, 
I’d rather do the giving myself.” 

“ How do you mean — giving? I don’t un- 
derstand.” 

“ You can’t understand till you try it. Did 
you ever think how much other people give 
you? Your father and mother give you a 
home, and lots of good things to eat, and 


64 


« LIMPY ” 


clothes to wear, and a nice bed to sleep in, and 
toys and things. Your teacher gives you an 
education. And what do you give them? ” 

“ No-nothing,” stammered Eddie thought- 
fully. “ I haven’t anything to give.” 

“ Don’t you be so sure of that,” Jonas as- 
serted. 

“ What could I give any one? ” queried Ed- 
die, still dubious. 

“ Well, you’ve got yourself, for one thing. 
Now here’s your mother that likes all of you 
boys and never sees much of you week days, 
because you’re in school. Now, when Satur- 
day comes, you all want to go fishing, and she 
wants one of you to stay at home. Just think 
how lonesome she’d be all day with you all 
away. You could give her yourself the whole 
day tomorrow.” 

“ I never thought of that,” Eddie confessed. 

“ Tell you what, Eddie, s’posing we call to- 
morrow a give day and just see how much you 
can give other people and see how it goes. 
Whenever you get a chance to give your ser- 
vices to any one, you just up and do it. Here 
you are, ten years old — ” 

“ Nearly eleven,” interrupted Eddie. 

“ Nearly eleven years old, and all these years 


GIVING AND GETTING 65 

you’ve been getting without giving. Try it 
the other way ’round for a change.” 

I’ll do it,” said Eddie with conviction. 
“ Tomorrow’s going to be my give day — my 
very first give day.” 

All the way home and all that evening he 
was ransacking his brains for ways and means 
of giving. “ What could he give to his father, 
his mother, his brothers?” The more he 
thought about it, the more he realized how 
heavy the balance stood against him. All of 
them were always giving him things. What 
had he ever given to any of them? 

But what had he to give any of them ? After 
supper that evening he went off upstairs to his 
own room and overhauled the trunk in which 
he kept his treasures. He knew there was 
nothing there that would be of much interest 
to either his father or mother, but perhaps he 
might find something that would appeal to 
Tom or Richard. In his enthusiasm over his 
first “ give day ” he was determined that it 
should include every member of the family. 

As his brothers were going to make an early 
start on their fishing-trip and were to be gone 
all day, he decided he must find something for 
them before he went to bed. One by one he 


66 


“ LIMPY ” 


went over his possessions. There was his 
stamp-album. Both his brothers had albums 
already, much more complete than his. Ed- 
die’s, in fact, was made up largely from the 
specimens they had discarded as duplicates. 
There were his beloved books. It would be 
useless to offer them. Tom and Richard cared 
little for books. No, there was nothing in the 
trunk that would do for either of them. As 
he put back the articles, he stood meditating 
with his hands in his pockets. Instinctively 
his fingers closed on his dearest possession, his 
knife, the wonderful knife that Uncle George 
had given him only a week before, with four 
blades and a file and a screw-driver. Richard 
wanted that, he knew. Hadn’t he offered to 
trade him all sorts of things for it? So far he 
had refused all offers. He just couldn’t give 
up that wonderful knife. The more he 
thought about it, the more he wanted to keep 
it. All the blades in it were ever so sharp. 
He wanted it, too, for carving out a boat. He 
was going to begin just as soon as he succeeded 
in finding the right kind of a piece of wood. 
He must discover something else for Rich- 
ard. He just couldn’t get along without that 
knife. 


GIVING AND GETTING 67 


He was still racking his brains for some 
other gift when bedtime came. As his mother, 
after unstrapping his brace, was massaging his 
leg, as she always did, a new appreciation of 
her kindness came to Eddie. He felt that 
every day was a “ give day ” with mother. 
She was always giving up her time to do things 
for him. 

“ Say, Mother. — ” he began. 

“Yes, Eddie dear, what is it?” she asked, 
quite accustomed to her youngest’s bedtime 
confidences. 

“ I’m glad I’m not going tomorrow. I’d 
rather stay here with you.” 

“ I’m so glad,” she answered. “ Mother 
would be very lonesome with all her boys gone 
all day.” 

“ I don’t mind a bit,” said Eddie. “ It’ll be 
a lot of fun staying at home.” 

“ You’re a dear boy to say that,” said Mrs. 
Randall, giving him an extra hug as she bade 
him good night. 

An unwonted sense of peace and comfort 
filled Eddie’s soul. Old Jonas was right; it 
did make you feel good to say nice things and 
do nice things. And as Eddie fell asleep, he 
had almost decided to give the knife to Richard. 


68 “ LIMPY ” 

But still there was Tom — what could he give 
Tom? 

A breakfast-table conversation the next 
morning decided the question for him. 

“ Tom,” said Mr. Randall sternly, “ you 
promised that if I would let you go fishing to- 
day, you would cut the grass of the front lawn 
yesterday afternoon. Why didn’t you do it? ” 

“ I forgot,” was Tom’s truthful reply. 

“ I’ve half a mind not to let you go,” said 
his father. 

A gleam of pleased delight came to Eddie’s 
face. Here was a chance to do something for 
Tom. “ I’m not going today, Father,” he 
said, “I’ll cut the grass. It’ll give me some- 
thing to do.” 

In the look of surprise in his father’s face 
at his unusual activity and in the expression 
of gratitude in his brother’s countenance, Ed- 
die felt well repaid. 

“ Well,” said Mr. Randall, “ I’ll let Tom off 
this time as you agree to do it, but all you 
boys must keep your promises when you make 
them.” 

“ Yes, sir, we will,” answered Tom as the 
chief offender. 

A little later, while lunch was being packed, 


GIVING AND GETTING 69 


Eddie found a minute alone with Richard. 
“ Say, Dick,” he announced, “ here’s my knife 
you can have if you want it.” 

“What!” exclaimed his delighted brother, 
“ you don’t mean it! ” 

“ Sure,” said Eddie. “ You can have it. 
I don’t want it.” 

“ You mean just for today or for keeps? ” 

“ For keeps,” said Eddie bravely. 

“ Gee, Eddie,” said his brother, “ that’s 
great! I wish you was going with us. But 
never mind, I’ll bring home a lot of willows 
for you, an’ I’ll show you how to cut a whistle.” 

In his satisfaction at the auspicious way in 
which his “ give day ” had begun, Eddie felt 
hardly a pang of disappointment as his broth- 
ers started off. As soon as they were out of 
sight, he got out the lawn-mower. He pre- 
tended he was an invading army. The grass 
was the enemy. Boldly and determinedly he 
fell to the attack. Even where the enemy 
made desperate resistance along the edge of 
the walk and under the shelter of the shrubs, 
it was quickly vanquished. Almost before he 
knew it, the task he had undertaken in his 
brother’s behalf was done. 

“ It wasn’t any work at all. It was just 


70 “ LIMPY ” 

fun/’ he said to himself as he put the lawn- 
mower away. 

Made thirsty by his labors, he invaded the 
kitchen for a drink of water. Black Maggie, 
the cook, was out on the back porch shelling 
peas and grumbling. 

“ I don’t see why we got to have peas on the 
day I’s got ma sweepin’ and dustin’,” she com- 
plained. 

Eddie’s condition of self-satisfaction re- 
ceived a sudden and severe jolt. In his “ give 
day ” plans he had forgotten to include Mag- 
gie, and she did lots of nice things for him. 
She saved him hot rolls when he was late for 
meals. Often, too, she made the gingerbread 
and cookies he liked. Had he ever done any- 
thing for her? Had he ever given her any- 
thing? He could not remember that he had. 
Here was his opportunity. He could offer to 
shell the peas for her. 

“ Let me shell ’em,” he suggested. 

“Run away, chile,” she ordered; “don’t 
bother me.” 

“ No, I mean it,” Eddie persisted; “ let me 
do them.” 

Amazed beyond further protest at such sur- 
prising and unusual consideration, Maggie 


GIVING AND GETTING 71 


relinquished the huge bowl of peas and with a 
doubtful shake of her head vanished to attend 
to her sweeping. There on the porch, indus- 
triously splitting the never-ending supply of 
pods, Mrs. Randall found Eddie on her return 
from market. 

“ What’s mother’s boy doing? ” she asked. 

“ Shelling the peas,” he answered. 

Unobserved by her son, Mrs. Randall 
opened her purse and then made a pretense of 
fumbling among the pods. “ My, what a lot 
you’ve got done,” she said as she passed on into 
the house. 

A few minutes later Eddie followed her 
with a delighted shout. “ Oh, Mother!” he 
cried, holding up a bright, shining dime. 
“ Look what I found in the bottom of the pail 
of peas.” 

“ Well! well! ” exclaimed Mrs. Randall with 
well-simulated surprise. “ I wonder how that 
came there! ” 

“ May I have it? ” Eddie asked. 

“ Why, certainly! Finders, keepers. You 
deserve it surely for shelling all those peas.” 

“ May I go and get an ice-cream with it? ” 

“You may do what you like with it; you 
found it,” his mother said. 


72 


“ LIMPY " 


His heart aglow with all the sudden and 
newly acquired wealth, Eddie grabbed his cap 
and started down the street. 

“ I’ll bet Tom and Richard aren’t having 
any more fun than me,” he soliloquized, more 
jubilantly than grammatically, thinking how 
much he would enjoy telling them about the 
finding of the mysterious dime among the peas, 
and of how surprised they would be. “I’ll 
bet neither of them ever found any money like 
that. A give day’s lots of fun.” 

Just then it came to him, with the thought 
of the “ give day,” that thus far he had given 
nothing to his mother — to mother, who gave 
him most of all. He slackened his pace and 
fell into deep thought. What could he give 
her? He had ten cents to spend as he liked. 
Why not, instead of buying something for him- 
self, buy something for her? He felt sure that 
that was what old Jonas would advise. Yet 
what was there that he could get for ten cents 
that his mother would like? As if in answer 
to his question a sign loomed up before him on 
the florist’s window, “ Fresh Lilacs, Only Ten 
Cents a Bunch.” But right next door was the 
ice-cream parlor. 

Eddie was only human, and ice-cream to a 


GIVING AND GETTING 73 


boy is always spelled in capital letters. He 
gazed for a moment into the florist’s window. 
He could, to be sure, get an ice-cream soda for 
five cents. Perhaps he could prevail on the 
florist to split a bunch of lilacs and give him 
five cents’ worth. Still he felt that such a com- 
promise would not do. It was mother who 
gave him most of all. He would spend all his 
money for her. 

His mind quickly made up, he went hurry- 
ing back home, carrying a great bunch of the 
fragrant blossoms. 

“ Home so soon? ” his mother called out in 
surprise, as she heard his footsteps on the 
porch. 

“ Yes’m,” cried Eddie, “ and look what I’ve 
got for you.” As he spoke, he plumped into 
her lap the armful of flowers, eying her ex- 
pectantly to see if she liked them. 

Only mothers, mothers delighted beyond 
measure at unexpected appreciation from those 
dearest to them, know how to say the words 
that brought a happy thrill to Eddie’s heart, 
that filled his throat with a funny, choky feel- 
ing, and spread through his whole being a sense 
of peace and satiety that all the ice-cream in 
the world could not have produced. And 


74 


“ LIMP Y ” 


while he and his mother sat there in one of 
those rare moments of complete understanding 
and appreciation, such as all too seldom come 
between mother and son, Mr. Randall entered, 
unexpectedly come home to luncheon. He 
was carrying all sorts of interesting-looking 
and mysterious packages. 

“ I don’t know why those two lazy boys 
should have all the picnics in this family,” he 
said exuberantly. “ Just look what I’ve got 
here. Eddie, you open them.” 

A delighted shout from Eddie an- 
nounced each new discovery. “ Macaroons! ” 
“ Candy! ” “Ice-cream!” 

“Oh, good!” exclaimed Mrs. Randall. 
“ We’ll have a picnic all to ourselves out on 
the back porch — just the three of us. It’s 
quite warm enough to eat outdoors.” 

“ That’ll be fine ! ” cried Mr. Randall. 

“ Great! ” said Eddie. 

“ And Eddie’s to have all the ice-cream he 
can eat,” announced his mother. “ He has 
earned it. He cut the grass, and he shelled 
the peas for Maggie, and with ten cents he 
found he bought me all these wonderful lilacs, 
the very first I’ve seen this year. See! ” 

“ My, but they are pretty! ” exclaimed Mr. 


GIVING AND GETTING 75 


Randall in proper appreciation, as Eddie 
flushed with becoming pride. “ And after the 
picnic we’ll all go to the ‘ movies.’ ” 

Late that afternoon, Eddie, tired out after 
the “ movies,” yet thoroughly happy in the con- 
sciousness of a day well spent, was swinging 
idly in the hammock on the front porch, won- 
dering how soon his brothers would be back 
from their fishing-excursion. It did not seem 
possible that so many pleasant and interesting 
things could have happened in the same day — 
and to think that only yesterday he had looked 
forward with dread to being left at home! As 
he lay there, content in pleasant retrospection, 
an odd whirring noise reached his ears. It 
seemed to come from somewhere up in the sky. 
Eddie hastily scrambled out of the hammock 
and hobbled into the street to look up. At 
what he saw he gasped in amazement. 

“ It’s an air-ship,” he cried excitedly, as he 
saw a great birdlike thing moving rapidly to- 
ward him. Though it was the first aeroplane 
he or any one else in the town had seen, he 
recognized it at once from pictures. 

As he looked, the whirring ceased, though 
the biplane glided on and on, coming nearer 
and nearer, and, oh, joy! coming down! 


76 “ LIMPY ” 

“Oh!” he cried. “It’s going to stop 
here.” 

As fast as his lameness permitted, he headed 
for Tucker’s back lot, arriving there before 
any one else, just as the great aeroplane settled 
slowly and gracefully down to earth. A 
leather- jacketed young man climbed out of the 
seat and pushed back his goggles. 

“ Here, young fellow,” he said, extending 
his watch, “ make a note of the time. I’m in 
the intercity race, and I’ve got to have a wit- 
nessed record of how long I stop. Where can 
I get some oil? ” 

“ There’s a garage just two blocks down the 
street,” said Eddy, pointing excitedly; “ down 
that way. Can I go for it? ” 

“I’ll get it myself,” said the aeronaut, strid- 
ing rapidly away. “ Watch her till I come 
back.” 

Eddie quickly found himself the center of 
an interested crowd eager to inspect the aero- 
plane, and he proudly explained to all of them 
about the race. As the aviator returned and 
began putting in the oil and tightening up the 
braces, a sudden daring resolve came to Eddie. 

“ Would you mind very much,” he asked 
politely, his voice almost sinking away in his 


GIVING AND GETTING 77 

throat as he did so, “if I got my brother’s 
camera and took a picture of you and your air- 
ship? ” 

“ Go ahead,” said the man, “ I’ll be here at 
least ten minutes longer.” 

In a jiffy Eddie was back with Tom’s 
camera and tremblingly squeezed the bulb 
while the obliging aviator posed beside his ma- 
chine, and the crowd looked on enviously. 

“ Now, wait a minute,” said the aviator as 
Eddie carefully turned the film. Taking the 
camera from him, he lifted Eddie into the seat 
of the aeroplane and snapped a picture of him 
sitting there holding the wheel. 

“ There you are, kid,” he said, returning the 
camera. “ Now you’ve got two pictures worth 
having. And here, sign this record — twenty- 
two minutes for a stop. You are the only one 
that was here when I landed.” 

Feeling more important than ever before in 
his life, Eddie, turning the precious camera 
over to his father to guard, grasped the avia- 
tor’s fountain-pen and wrote his name — not, 
it must be confessed, in his best handwriting 
— but his full name, Edward Haverford Ran- 
dall. 

A moment later the engine was started, the 


78 


“ LIMPY ” 


propeller-blades began to revolve, the whirring 
sound increased in volume, for a few yards the 
great machine glided over the turf, and then, 
rising slowly and gracefully above the fence, 
above the houses, it mounted up and up and 
sped farther and farther away until finally it 
was lost in the distant sky, and the miracle was 
over. 

At supper that night Eddie and his father 
were still discussing the wonderful event and 
looking again and again at the pictures which 
Mr. Randall had had the photographer de- 
velop and print at once. 

“ You can tell it’s me, can’t you? ” Eddie 
asked for about the tenth time, as the steps of 
Tom and Richard were heard on the porch. 
“ Let me tell them about it,” he whispered, and 
his parents nodded assent. 

“ Well, boys, what luck? ” asked Mr. Ran- 
dall as they entered. 

“We didn’t get a bite,” said Tom crossly. 
“ And I broke my new fishin’-rod.” 

“ An’ Eddie, all the blades in your knife got 
broke,” added Richard. 

“ I don’t care,” said Eddie, “ if you broke a 
hundred blades.” 


GIVING AND GETTING 79 


Something in his jubilant tone attracted the 
attention of both his brothers. “ What’s hap- 
pened? ” they asked, suddenly suspicious. 

“ Oh, nothing much,” said Eddie, struggling 
to restrain his impatient tongue. 

“ Oh, go on, tell us,” demanded his brothers, 
now reading something unusual in the faces of 
all three of the home-stayers. 

“ I cut the grass,” began Eddie slowly, feel- 
ing that his narrative was entirely too exciting 
to tell all at once, “ and then I shelled the peas, 
and what do you think? I found ten cents in 
the pail.” 

44 Is that all? ” asked Richard disappoint- 
edly. 

“ No, that’s not all,” said Eddie trium- 
phantly. 44 Dad came home to lunch with 
macaroons and candy and ice-cream, and we 
had a picnic on the back porch, and then Dad 
took us three to the movies — ” 

44 Pooh! That’s nothing,” said Tom, al- 
though his face showed sad regret at having 
missed the fun. 

44 But wait! ” shrilled Eddie, his voice rising 
in his excitement. 44 There was a great big 
aeroplane came sailing through the sky, and it 
came down and landed right in Tucker’s back 


80 


“ LIMPY 


lot, and I was the very first person there when 
it got there, and the man asked me to watch it 
while he went and got some oil, and I watched 
it, didn’t I, Dad? And then he let me take a 
picture of him and it with your camera, Tom, 
and then he took a picture of me sitting right 
in the aeroplane, and he got me to sign his re- 
port as an official witness ; nobody else but me, 
didn’t he, Dad? And here’s the pictures we 
took.” 

Quickly his brothers grasped the photo- 
graphs, even their hunger forgotten in their 
eagerness to see this confirmation of Eddie’s 
wonderful tale. 

“ Oh, gee!” said Tom sadly, “ I’d a lot 
rather ’a’ stayed at home.” 

“ Sure,” said Eddie happily, “ a give day is 
lots more fun than a fishing day.” 

In the excitement of looking at the photo- 
graphs nobody noticed Eddie’s remark except 
his mother — somehow mothers notice every- 
thing — and after supper, when Eddie had 
conducted his brothers out to Tucker’s back lot 
to show them the exact spot where the aero- 
plane had landed, Mrs. Randall said to her 
husband : 

“ Wasn’t Eddie a dear to spend all his 


GIVING AND GETTING 81 


money for those lilacs for me, but he does say 
such queer things. I wonder what he meant 
by a £ give day ’? ” 

“A what?” asked Mr. Randall, who was 
busy with the evening paper. 

“ A £ give day,’ ” Mrs. Randall repeated. 

“ I don’t know,” he replied carelessly. 
££ Boys get funny notions.” 

So Mr. and Mrs. Randall never did know 
about their youngest son’s first give day and 
how it turned out, but Eddie told old Jonas all 
about it the next afternoon. 

££ And you were right, Mr. Jonas,” he con- 
cluded. ££ Giving is lots more fun than get- 
ting. I’m going to try to make every day a 
give day as long as ever I live.” 

Old Jonas nodded his head sagely. He 
didn’t have to say anything. Eddie knew that 
he approved. It takes these lame fellows that 
have to sit around a lot to understand each 
other. 


CHAPTER FOUR 


PEACE WITH HONOR 

‘ AA7 HATS more ’” asserted Tom > “ rm 

V V not going to do it any longer.” 

“ You dassent quit,” said Richard. 
“ There’ll be a fuss if you do.” 

“ I don’t care.” 

Eddie did not say anything at all. He just 
sat there, an amazed and silent auditor. 

“ There isn’t another boy I know as old as 
me,” Tom continued, “ who kisses his father 
good night.” 

“ I’ll bet Froggie Sweeney don’t,” said 
Richard with conviction. 

“ No, nor Four-eyed Smith.” 

“ Nor Fatty Bullen.” 

“ No, there’s none of them do it, and I’m 
going to quit.” 

“ I will if you will,” said Richard. 

“ All right. We’ll quit tonight.” 

“And what about Limpy?” 
queried. 


Richard 


PEACE WITH HONOR 


83 


Eddie blushed painfully. Even if he did 
have to wear an iron brace on his leg, he did 
not like his brothers calling him by the resented 
nickname. It was bad enough when the other 
boys used it. True, it was seldom that his 
brothers forgot. Their lapses happened only 
when they were discussing some topic of ab- 
sorbing interest. 

“ Limpy — Eddie can do as he likes/’ di- 
rected Tom loftily. “ He is not old enough 
for it to make any difference to him. You and 
I are lots older and bigger than he is. The 
idea of a fellow of fourteen having to go 
around kissing people! I’m through with 
it.” 

You’re still going to kiss mother, aren’t 
you, Tom?” questioned Eddie eagerly. 

“ I guess so,” said his brother slowly; “ that’s 
different.” 

“ Sure it’s different,” added Richard. 
“ Women like kissing and being kissed. They 
never get over it.” 

“ It goes then,” asked Tom, “ no kissing 
father tonight? ” 

“ It goes, cross my heart and hope to die,” 
said Richard. 

“ It goes,” said Eddie solemnly after a mo- 


84 


“ LIMP Y ” 


merit’s thought. He resented Tom’s reference 
to his youth. He did not like being considered 
different from other boys. Personally, he had 
not the slightest objection to kissing his father. 
He could not understand why Tom objected 
to it. Still he felt it was somehow up to him 
to stand by his brothers. 

The momentous question decided, nothing 
more was said about it among the boys until 
nine o’clock arrived that evening. 

“ Come, boys,” said Mrs. Randall, “ it’s bed- 
time.” 

For once, for almost the first time in Ran- 
dall history, there was no protest against hav- 
ing to retire so early. Tom and Richard 
promptly got up to leave the room, exchang- 
ing meaning glances as they did so. Eddie 
sat undecided, timorously watching his more 
daring brothers, as with heads erect they 
marched out of the living-room. 

“ Boys,” their mother called after them, 
“ you forgot to kiss your father good night.” 

Pretending not to hear, they began ascend- 
ing the stairs. “ Thomas, Richard,” Mrs. 
Randall called out sharply, “ come back here 
and kiss your father good night.” 

Mr. Randall, suddenly aware that something 


PEACE WITH HONOR 


85 


out of the ordinary was happening, put aside 
his evening paper and looked up. 

“ I’m not going to kiss father any more,” 
announced Tom boldly from the stairs. “ I’m 
too old for kissing.” 

“ Me, too,” echoed Richard. 

An amused smile crept over Mr. Randall’s 
face. He recalled a somewhat similar revolt 
in his own boyhood. Into his wife’s eyes, how- 
ever, came tears of amazement and sorrow. 

“ Eddie, dear,” she said appealingly, “ come 
and kiss your father good night.” 

The little fellow’s first impulse was to obey, 
but he remembered that his word was pledged 
to his brothers. What would they think of 
him if he did not keep the pact? “ No’m,” he 
said, “ I’m not going to.” 

With that he hobbled bravely from the room, 
feeling a bit wobbly in his heart, almost wish- 
ing he had not promised, yet finding comfort 
in the thought that he was proving to Tom and 
Richard that he could be as game as they even 
if he was not as old. 

Mrs. Randall looked with puzzled eyes after 
her youngest, and as soon as he was out of the 
room gave way again to tears. 

“ Never mind,” said her husband soothingly, 


86 “ LIMPY ” 

“ all boys get that kind of feelings. Don’t 
bother about it.” 

“ But Eddie, too,” she sobbed; “ he’s always 
been such a good boy.” 

“ Oh, boys are all alike,” said Mr. Randall 
with assumed indifference. “ Just let them 
alone. Now don’t you go fussing and crying 
over them tonight.” 

“ But,” she cried piteously, “ I can’t under- 
stand what’s got into them.” 

“ It’s just boy,” said her husband under- 
standingly. “ Now let them alone. Don’t go 
up-stairs and don’t kiss one of them.” 

“Don’t you think I’d better?” she asked 
anxiously. “ Don’t you think they want to 
kiss me, either? ” 

“ Sure they do. Boys never outgrow a 
mother’s kisses. They’d miss them more than 
you would. But if they want your kisses, 
make them come after them.” 

“ But — but — I must go up and massage 
Eddie’s leg,” protested Mrs. Randall, and once 
up-stairs, regardless of her husband’s advice, 
she gave each of her sons the customary good 
night kiss, to their surprise and relief saying 
nothing about the evening’s unusual occur- 
rences. The next night, too, the boys were 


PEACE WITH HONOR 


87 


permitted to go to bed without kissing their 
father, and no comment was made about it. 

“ It came easier than I thought it would,” 
observed Tom to Richard. 

“ Sure,” said Richard, “ they didn’t put up 
hardly any holler about it.” 

Only Eddie, of the three, felt vaguely dis- 
satisfied and uneasy. Naturally affectionate 
in disposition, and perhaps somewhat spoiled 
and petted on account of his infirmity, he really 
had enjoyed the evidence of paternal affection; 
still even he had no intention of weakening in 
his resolve not to kiss Dad any more. The 
praise bestowed on him by his brothers for 
backing them up in their revolt had been far 
too much appreciated. “ I didn’t think Eddie 
had it in him,” had been Richard’s admiring 
comment. 

“ Sure he has,” said Tom. “ Eddie’s as 
game a kid as they make.” 

Eddie’s heart had swelled with pride at these 
tributes, little thinking that that very evening 
his gameness would be put to a further and 
still sterner test. 

It was in the afternoon after school when 
he first realized that there was something in 
the wind. He saw his brothers and several of 


88 


“ LIMPY ” 


the other older boys whispering together ex- 
citedly about something. He hung around 
for a while, hoping vainly that they would take 
him into their confidence in recognition of his 
recent advancement in his brothers’ estimation. 

Seeing no signs of his being permitted to 
share in their secret, he finally gave up hope 
and went off by himself, spending the after- 
noon till supper time, as was his custom, chat- 
ting with his crony, old one-legged Jonas 
Tucker, in front of old Jonas’s tobacco-shop. 
He did not see his brothers again until they 
were gathered at the table. 

“ Father,” Tom was asking as Eddie took 
his seat, “ can Richard and I go over to Fatty 
Eullen’s for a little while this evening? ” 
Frequently the boys were allowed to go out 
after supper, if they asked permission, but to- 
night, to Mrs. Randall’s surprise as well as to 
that of the boys, a different answer came. 

“ No,” said Mr. Randall, “ I want all you 
boys to stay in your own yard tonight.” 

“ Aw, please, father,” protested Richard, 
“ can’t we go for a little while? ” 

“ I said ‘ No,’ and I mean it,” Mr. Randall 
answered in his sternest manner. 

Two much depressed youngsters finished 


PEACE WITH HONOR 


89 


their supper in silence, and as soon as they 
were through adjourned to the back yard, 
where an indignation meeting was held, with 
Eddie as an interested listener. “ Did you 
ever hear of anything so mean? ” exclaimed 
Tom. 44 He’s always let us go before.” 

44 He’s doing it just to get square with us 
for not kissing him,” affirmed Richard, vi- 
ciously kicking at the turf. 

44 And to have to stay in tonight of all 
nights,” groaned Tom. 

44 Why tonight?” asked Eddie. 44 What’s 
going on? ” 

44 Froggie Sweeney’s sister’s getting married 
tonight,” explained Richard condescendingly, 
44 and the fellers — the big fellers — are going 
to give them the grandest kind of a 4 shiv- 
aree.’ ” 

44 What’s a 4 shivaree ’? ” asked the puzzled 
Eddie. He spent so much of his time reading 
that generally it was his brothers who asked 
him the meaning of words, but, as it happened, 
he had never run across any mention of the 
charivari in any of the books he had read. 

44 It’s — well, anyhow,” said Richard, find- 
ing the new term rather hard to define, 
44 they’re going to serenade the newly married 


90 


“ LIMPY ” 


couple, the bride and groom, and sing and 
make a lot of noise and things until they come 
out on the porch and show themselves and then 
they have to set up a treat for the crowd, cigars 
and things. Mike Bullen and his gang have 
got a big dry-goods box made into a horse- 
fiddle with a lot of rosin on it, and it screeches 
something terrible, and Dick Bates has swiped 
his father’s cornet, and Tom and me was going 
to see it all.” 

“ But,” objected the truthful Eddie, 44 you 
told father you were going over to Fatty Bul- 
len’s? ” 

“ We were,” said Tom. 

44 Yes,” added Richard , 44 we was going there 
first and then going to meet the gang.” 

44 I’m going anyhow,” announced Tom with 
sudden determination. 

44 If you go, I’ll go too,” asserted Richard. 

44 But what’ll Dad say? ” questioned Eddie, 
shocked at their daring. 

44 He can’t do any worse than lick us,” said 
Tom, 44 and it’s going to be worth a licking.” 

44 He might come after us and make us 
march home,” suggested Richard. 

44 How’s he going to find out where we have 
gone ? 99 


PEACE WITH HONOR 


91 


“ Eddie’ll tell him.” 

Tom turned and regarded his youngest 
brother with a threatening manner. He felt 
that, as Richard had suggested, here lay a pos- 
sibility of betrayal. While Eddie might wish 
to keep their secret, he had the habit of telling 
the truth. If Dad asked him where his broth- 
ers had gone, what could he say? Something 
of the same course of thought was going 
through Eddie’s mind. He foresaw himself 
in a painful dilemma. Either he would have 
to betray Tom and Richard, or else he would 
have to fib to Dad. He did not wish to do 
either. Suddenly a way out of the difficulty 
dawned on him, a solution not without its per- 
sonal advantages. 

“ I won’t tell,” he said, “ for I’m going with 
you.” 

“ Naw, you can’t. You’re too — ” Richard 
began, but Tom hushed him up quickly. 

“ Sure, Eddie can come along if he wants 
to,” he directed. “ He’ll enjoy all the fun as 
much as we will.” 

“ All right,” said Richard, “ you can come 
if you want to.” 

Eddie could hardly believe it possible that 
they were going to permit his company. Or- 


92 


“ LIMPY ” 


dinarily, when any exciting adventure was in 
prospect, they ran off and left him. And he 
did so much want to see what a charivari was 
like. In the excitement of departure he al- 
most forgot that he was being disobedient. 
With his two brothers he slipped out of the 
yard, carefully avoiding the front gate, and 
soon the three of them formed a joyful and ex- 
cited part of the throng that had already con- 
gregated about the Sweeney cottage. They 
watched with eagerness the dry-goods box 
brought up that was to constitute the horse- 
fiddle. They participated loudly in the re- 
peated calls of “ Come on out,” “ Bring out 
the bride.” They applauded vociferously as 
an impromptu choir bawled out, “ Oh, my 
darling Nellie Gray,” and such other favorites. 

They were excitedly enjoying it all, skip- 
ping hither and thither through the crowd to 
watch and discuss each new development. 
They had forgotten that they were disobedient 
fugitives. Suddenly the rude hand of an un- 
kind fate descended. It seized Tom and Rich- 
ard firmly by the collar. 

“ You boys come right home,” said their 
father’s voice in tones so stern that they hardly 
recognized it. 


PEACE WITH HONOR 


93 


Painfully conscious of the unwelcome notice 
of the multitude, burning with shame at the 
jeers and catcalls from the other boys that 
reached their ears, anxiously wondering what 
further punishment still awaited them, the two 
boys in their father’s grasp, with Eddie, fright- 
ened almost to sobbing, trailing in the rear, 
marched silently homeward. At their own 
door Mr. Randall released them. 

“ Go right up-stairs and go to bed,” he said 
sternly. “ In the morning I will punish you 
for your disobedience.” 

With their zest for adventure turned to bit- 
ter shame, with no words among themselves, 
for one evening without their mother’s kiss, the 
three of them crept silently into bed wonder- 
ing what new disgrace and terror the morrow 
would bring. Meanwhile their parents down- 
stairs debated a fit punishment. 

“ All three of them deserve a sound thrash- 
ing,” asserted Mr. Randall. “ I forbade their 
going over to Bullens’ because I had heard 
about the charivari that was planned for to- 
night, and such affairs are no place for young- 
sters.” 

“ But Eddie,” protested Mrs. Randall, 
“ you wouldn’t whip Eddie.” 


94 


“ LIMPY ” 


“ They all three disobeyed. All three must 
be punished.” 

“ Eddie must not be whipped,” said his 
mother firmly. “ I don’t think he’s as much 
to blame as the others. They are older and 
ought to know better.” 

“ Well,” said her husband, “ I won’t whip 
any of them. I’ll punish them all alike. 
They must learn once and for all that they 
must do as they are told.” 

So it was decided, and it was three fearful 
youngsters who came down to breakfast the 
next morning — came down late, in the vain 
hope that Dad might be gone already to the 
office, came down together, feeling that there 
is strength even in the unity of conscious guilt. 

Their hope was disappointed. Dad was still 
there, though he had long ago finished his 
breakfast. Plainly, he had been waiting for 
them. They paused at the door of the dining- 
room and anxiously studied his face. How 
were they to be punished? Was it to be a 
licking? Would he whip them all — Eddie, 
too ? — they wondered. 

“You three boys disobeyed me last night,” 
said Mr. Randall without preliminaries. “ I 
forbade any of you going out of the yard. 


PEACE WITH HONOR 


95 


You all three went. You told me you were 
going to Bullens’. You went to that disgrace- 
ful charivari at Sweeneys’. As a punishment 
you are not to go outside of your own yard for 
one week from today.” 

“Not even to school?” asked Tom, hardly 
believing his ears. This was a new, protracted 
sort of penalty little to his liking. 

“Not even to school,” said Mr. Randall. 

“ Oh, goody! ” cried Richard. 

“ But, Dad,” protested Eddie, blank dismay 
written in his countenance, “I’ll lose my per- 
fect attendance record.” 

“ That can not be helped,” said Mr. Ran- 
dall inexorably. “You should have thought 
of the possible penalities for disobedience be- 
fore you went away last night.” 

They were three stunned youngsters whom 
he left behind him when he went to his office. 
Even their customary breakfast appetites 
failed them. The more they thought about 
their punishment the more severe and unen- 
durable it seemed. 

“ I’d rather have taken a couple of lickings 
and had them over with,” complained Richard. 
“ This lasts a whole week.” 

“And that isn’t the worst of it,” groaned 


96 “ LIMPY ” 

Tom. “ Just wait till the fellows find it out.” 

“ Oh, gee, that’s fierce ! ” exclaimed Richard, 
“ I never thought of that! ” 

Bitterly as they had felt the shame of cap- 
ture the evening before, its memories now 
faded before the terrifying prospect of what 
would occur when the other boys learned of 
their incarceration for a week. Already they 
foresaw a week of unendurable captivity while 
a jeering crowd of boys and girls gathered each 
day after school outside their fence to taunt 
them. 

The whistled call of Fatty Bullen en route 
to school elicited no response. Shamefacedly 
Tom and Richard folded their napkins and left 
the table, creeping off to the barn to stay 
safely out of sight till the last of the boys was 
in the schoolroom. Eddie lingered at the 
table, waiting till his mother had come into the 
room, and trying then to find comfort in her 
presence, but it seemed somehow as if over- 
night a great wall had sprung up between 
them. He waited in vain for her to begin the 
conversation. 

“ Don’t you think,” he said at last, “ that 
Miss McGuffey will wonder where I am.” 

“ I don’t think so. Your father was going 


PEACE WITH HONOR 97 

to leave a note for the principal explaining 
your absence.” 

“Oh!” exclaimed Eddie. He had had 
some vague hope that his absence might be 
accounted for by illness. He resented hav- 
ing his punishment reported to the principal, 
to the teacher, to everybody and anybody. To 
be punished this way was bad enough without 
having it talked about. A wave of anger and 
resentment against his father crept into his 
heart. 

The sad look on the face of her youngest 
was too much for the mother heart. Mrs. 
Randall knew how proud Eddie had been of 
his perfect attendance record. She felt she 
must try to do something for her small son. 

“ Eddie, dear,” she suggested, “ perhaps 
when your father comes home to luncheon, if 
you go up to him and say you are sorry and 
promise that you will obey him hereafter he 
may let you go to school again this afternoon.” 

“ But,” said Eddie, “ I’m not sorry.” 

With that he stalked defiantly from the room 
to join his brothers, leaving a mother 
thoroughly amazed and perplexed by his sur- 
prising conduct. She could not imagine what 
baleful influence had suddenly turned her 


98 “ LIMPY ” 

sweet-tempered, gentle child into a desperate, 
defiant youth. 

Yet Eddie down in his heart was sorry. 
Right gladly he would have gone to his father 
as mother had suggested, if there had been only 
himself to consider. The anger and resent- 
ment he had felt against his father had lasted 
hardly until he reached the porch. It was all 
he could do to keep the tears back and to keep 
his voice from quivering as he had announced 
that he was not sorry. Oh, he was sorry, so 
sorry it had all happened. But there were his 
brothers. They had trusted him. They had 
let him go with them. They had decided that 
he was “ game.” He must stand by them now. 
So long as they endured their punishment, so 
must he. He wished he could explain to his 
mother how he felt about it. Perhaps, though, 
she wouldn’t understand. There were some 
things women didn’t understand. 

As the time for the noon recess approached, 
all three of them sought refuge in the house, 
apparently unmindful of the troop of boys who 
went by whistling and calling for them. They 
ate their midday meal for once in silence, at- 
tempting no part in the conversation, while 
Mr. and Mrs. Randall chatted pleasantly to- 


PEACE WITH HONOR 


99 


gether, paying no attention to them beyond 
seeing that their plates were filled. After the 
dreary meal was over and Mr. Randall had 
gone again to the office, they sat uneasily about 
the dining-room until the last school-bell gave 
them warning that it was safe for them to ad- 
journ to the yard. 

Tom and Richard headed for the barn in 
search of pastime, but Eddie seated himself 
on the back porch to think it over. Surely 
there must be some way out of it. To go on 
living like this for six more days seemed un- 
bearable. If only he could talk it all over with 
old Jonas. A suddenly formed resolve seized 
him. He went into the living-room to find 
his mother. “ If I give my parole, like prison- 
ers do in war, to go away and come back in 
an hour,” he asked, “ may I leave the yard? 
I promise not to go anywhere you wouldn’t 
want me to.” 

Mrs. Randall gravely debated the question. 
She wondered if Eddie had changed his mind 
and wanted to go to his father’s office to say 
he was sorry. She forbore to ask. Perhaps 
he wanted to go to see that queer old man 
whose remarks he was always quoting. She 
decided to give her permission. “ If you will 


100 “ LIMPY ” 

give your word of honor to return in one hour 
you may go.” 

As fast as his lame leg would carry him, 
Eddie went hurrying down the street to old 
Jonas’s, and soon was pouring out the whole 
story to the one-legged veteran, who listened 
sympathetically as always. 

“ And Tom says,” Eddie concluded, “ that 
Dad’s only doing it to be mean because we quit 
kissing him good night.” 

“ No, sir,” old Jonas answered, vigorously 
shaking his beard in disapproval, “ it’s nothing 
like that. Your Dad was perfectly right. 
‘ Shivarees ’ are no place for young boys. 
Sometimes the crowd gets to drinking and gets 
pretty rough. Once when I was a youngster 
an old man got mad at the noise and fired a 
load of buckshot into the crowd and some was 
pretty bad hurt. Besides, Eddie, whether it 
was right or wrong for you to go, it was against 
orders. In every house the father is the gen- 
eral, or he ought to be, and you boys are the 
soldiers. It’s the business of good soldiers to 
do what they are told without asking questions. 
A fine army it would be if everybody did as 
they liked. And who’s got a better right to 
give you orders than your father? As long 


PEACE WITH HONOR 101 


as you boys are living in your father’s house 
and eating his food and wearing the clothes 
he buys for you, it’s up to you all to do what 
he tells you. No, sir, you boys are rebels. 
You’ve been licked just like w r e licked ;the 
Rebels at Gettysburg and all them places. 
The best thing for you boys to do is to holler 
for peace with honor and to holler quick.” 

“ How’ll we go about it? ” Eddie asked. 
Since old Jonas had explained it, he saw now 
how much in the wrong he and his brothers 
had been. 

“ Why don’t you approach your dad with a 
flag of truce? ” suggested Jonas. 

“ Gee,” said Eddie, his military spirit kin- 
dling at the thought, “ that would be great, 
wouldn’t it? ” 

So that night, shortly after Mr. Randall re- 
turned home, the three boys filed into the room 
where he was sitting. Eddie led the way 
carrying a white handkerchief pinned to a cane. 
Their father looked up wonderingly as they 
approached. 

“ What’s this,” he asked, “ a flag of truce? ” 

“ That’s what,” said Eddie delightedly, giv- 
ing way to Tom as spokesman. 


102 


LIMPY ” 


“ We wish to say, sir,” said Tom, “ that we 
surrender. We are sorry we disobeyed you 
last night, and if you will let us go to school 
tomorrow, we will try hereafter to do what we 
are told.” 

“ On that condition,” Mr. Randall replied, 
“ the sentence is suspended and your parole is 
accepted. You need no longer stay in the 
yard.” 

“ Oh, Dad,” cried Eddie, joyfully, dropping 
his flag and rushing forward for a kiss, “ it’s a 
peace with honor, isn’t it? ” 

“ But only Eddie kissed you,” said Mrs. 
Randall disappointedly that night after the 
three were safe in bed. “ I hoped that Tom 
and Richard would, too.” 

“ They’d have liked to,” Mr. Randall an- 
swered, “ and they knew I knew they’d have 
liked to, so let’s let it go at that. We men 
understand one another.” 


CHAPTER FIVE 


AND NO ICE-CREAM 

“T’M giving it for Mr. Wilson’s nephew 
and niece who are visiting us,” explained 
Mrs. Wilson. 

“How r lovely!” exclaimed Mrs. Randall. 

“ I’m asking only about twenty of the boys 
and girls — only the nicest ones.” 

“Of course,” said Mrs. Randall with under- 
standing. 

“ I’m sending invitations to two of your 
boys, Tom and Richard. I purposely did not 
invite Eddie. I felt sure you would not want 
him to go.” 

“ No,” said Eddie’s mother, rather doubt- 
fully, “ I suppose it would be better if he stayed 
home.” 

“ You see,” her guest went on, “ he is so 
much younger than the others, and then, on 
account of his lameness, I felt that you would 
not wish him to be going out at night.” 

“ No, of course not,” said Mrs. Randall ab- 


104 


“ LIMP Y ” 


sently. To tell the truth her mother heart was 
worrying not a little as to how her youngest 
would take it when he learned that his broth- 
ers had been invited to a party and that he 
had been omitted. Eddie did not like being 
left out of things, or being made to feel that 
he was different from other boys. It was quite 
true that his mother did not relish the idea of 
his going anywhere at night. She always wor- 
ried about him whenever he was out of her 
sight. There was always the fear that he 
might fall and hurt his poor, lame leg, or of 
some mishap to the iron brace he had to wear. 
If anything happened to it, Eddie would be 
helpless. Probably it was just as well that he 
was not to be invited, though she knew he 
would be much disappointed. But she was 
wondering what she could plan to offset Ed- 
die’s disappointment. She and his father must 
give up the whole evening to him and arrange 
something he would like. So busy was she 
with her own thoughts that she hardly listened 
to the rest of Mrs. Wilson’s conversation. 

At noon the next day the invitations arrived. 
Black Maggie brought them in while the boys 
were at the table, two of them, in square, white 
envelopes addressed to “ Master Thomas Ran- 


AND NO ICE-CREAM 


105 


dall, Jr.,” and “ Master Richard P. Randall.” 
With a feeling of vast importance at receiving 
mail addressed to themselves, the two boys 
hastened to open the envelopes. Tom read his 
aloud : 

Mr. and Mrs. Henry R. Wilson request the pleas- 
ure of the company of Master Thomas Randall, 
Junior, on Friday evening, the twenty-fifth, at eight 
o’clock, to meet their nephew and niece, Master 
William and Miss Edna Wilson. 

If convenient you will please call for Miss Ida 
Jones. 

Dick’s invitation was similarly worded ex- 
cept that he was asked to call for Carrie Wal- 
lace. 

“ Oh, great!” cried Tom, “ it’s a party. 
See my invitation, Dad.” 

“ See mine, too,” chimed in Richard. 

As Mr. Randall duly admired both invita- 
tions, his wife was anxiously watching the face 
of her youngest to see how he took it. At first 
she noted nothing but boyish curiosity. Ed- 
die was pleased and interested in the unusual 
sight of his brothers getting letters of their 
very own. Then, as Tom read his invitation 
aloud and Richard followed suit, an expres- 
sion of incredulous dismay came into Eddie’s 


106 


“ LIMP Y ” 


face. Where was his invitation? At first he 
could not believe it possible that he was not 
to be asked. Yet that must be it. If they had 
wanted him, his invitation would have come 
with the others. No, he was not to get any. 
They did not want him at the party. Nobody 
wanted him. He was a cripple. People 
didn’t want cripples at parties. The expres- 
sion of dismay in his face gave way to one of 
bitterness, bitterness toward all the world. 

Just then his father unthinkingly asked: 
“ Where’s yours, Eddie? Didn’t you get one, 
too?” 

Too late Mrs. Randall shot a glance of warn- 
ing at her husband, but the damage was done. 
Eddie gulped. In spite of his efforts to re- 
strain them, two great tears rolled down his 
cheeks. His .voice quivered dolefully as he 
answered : 

“ I didn’t get any. I guess they don’t want 
me there.” 

“ Never mind,” said his father with affected 
cheerfulness, “ you’re too young to be going to 
parties.” 

“ And too lame,” Eddie burst out, rising 
hastily from the table and hobbling from the 
room. He just hated to have any one see him 


AND NO ICE-CREAM 


107 


cry, but the tears would not be kept back. 

“ Gee,” said Tom, “ it’s too bad they didn’t 
ask the kid.” 

“ Sure it is,” added Richard, “ and I’ll bet 
they’re going to have ice-cream, too; loads of 
it.” 

Mrs. Randall half rose from her chair to fol- 
low Eddie from the room, but changed her 
mind. What was there she could say to him? 
She must talk it over with her husband. As 
Tom and Richard dashed out in haste to show 
their invitations to the rest of the boys, she 
asked anxiously: “Don’t you think I had 
better ask Mrs. Wilson if she won’t invite 
Eddie? The poor little fellow is so disap- 
pointed.” 

“ Don’t you do anything of the sort,” Mr. 
Randall advised. “ You pamper that child 
far too much. He must learn that he can not 
have everything he wants. It is just as well 
that he isn’t going.” 

“ But he hasn’t much fun,” the mother pro- 
tested. “ There are so many of the games the 
boys play that he can’t take part in. I wish he 
could go.” 

“ Well, he isn’t asked, so that settles it,” said 
Mr. Randall as he went off to business. 


108 


LIMPY ” 


But he was mistaken; it did not settle it. 
Mrs. Randall and Mrs. Wilson met that after- 
noon in Kendall’s grocery. Eddie’s mother 
regarded their meeting as almost providential. 
As they chatted, she was making up her mind 
to tell Mrs. Wilson how disappointed her small 
son had been and to urge that he, too, be 
asked. 

Mrs. Wilson, however, saved her the trouble. 
“ Oh, my dear,” she said, “ there’s something 
I almost forgot to tell you. I changed my 
mind and asked Eddie after all. You see, I 
had forgotten to include in my list that nice 
little Floribel Finch who lives next door to 
you. I sent her an invitation today. I 
wanted to have the same number of boys and 
girls and I couldn’t think of another boy to 
invite, so I addressed an invitation to Eddie 
and mailed it today. You don’t really mind, 
do you? ” 

“ No, indeed I don’t,” said Mrs. Randall 
heartily. “ I’m really delighted that you asked 
him. He was so disappointed.” 

She hurried home with the good news, hop- 
ing to find Eddie there, for it was time for 
school to be out, but already he had hurried 
away to old Jonas Tucker’s tobacco shop and 


AND NO ICE-CREAM 


109 


was telling his troubles to the one-legged vet- 
eran in whom he always found a sympathetic 
and understanding listener. 

“ Don’t you care, Eddie,” said old Jonas 
consolingly, “ maybe you wouldn’t have a 
good time at the party if you did get to 
go” 

“ But people always have a good time at 
parties,” protested Eddie. “ That’s what they 
have parties for.” 

“ It ain’t where you are or what you are do- 
ing that makes a good time. A good time is 
here,” said old Jonas, pointing to his head. 
“It is what you think that makes good times 
and bad times.” 

“ I don’t quite understand,” said Eddie 
soberly. Thinking you were having a good 
time staying away from a party was beyond 
his philosophy. 

“ Now, if I was so minded,” old Jonas went 
on, “ I could sit out here in front of my shop 
having a bad time. I might be growling be- 
cause I can’t get around much to see things. 
I might get mad every time a man came walk- 
ing by here on two legs at thinking I had only 
one. But, Eddie, that ain’t my way. I have 
a good time just sitting here, and reading my 


110 


“ LIMPY ” 


paper, and watching people pass, and feeling 
thankful that my little friend, Eddie Randall, 
has two legs — ” 

“ A leg and a half,” interrupted Eddie. It 
was a standing joke between them. And old 
Jonas was the only person in the whole world 
with whom Eddie could joke about his lame- 
ness. He never felt badly when Jonas talked 
about it. 

“ A leg and a half,” amended Jonas, “ to get 
here afternoons to see me.” 

“ But when you were young, as young as 
me,” protested Eddie, still unconvinced, 
“ didn’t you like to go to parties? ” 

“ I suppose I did,” the old man answered, 
“ but I can’t remember enjoying any of them as 
much as I thought I would beforehand. You 
see, Eddie, it ain’t all gold that glitters. 
There’s lots of things we see shining ahead of 
us that looks mighty fine, but when we get up 
close they ain’t worth having. It’s like the 
pyrites that fool so many gold-hunters — fool’s 
gold they call it. You mustn’t let the glitter 
of things deceive you. If you don’t get to go 
to the party, and stay home with your dad and 
mother, I’ll wager you’ll have a better time 
than if you went. Remember the time they 


AND NO ICE-CREAM 


111 


wouldn’t let you go fishing, and the airship 
came down, and you saw it, and Tom and Rich- 
ard didn’t.” 

“Yes, but this time is different,” Eddie ob- 
jected. “ A party’s real gold.” 

“I’ll admit it glitters, but lots of things glit- 
ter,” was Jonas’s parting shot. “ Be sure and 
tell me about it afterward.” 

“Sure I will,” said Eddie. 

Despite old Jonas’s attempted consolation, 
Eddie, when he reached home, was still as de- 
spondent as ever. With shining eyes his 
mother watched him as he took his seat at the 
table. The invitation had come and lay hid- 
den under his napkin. He took his seat look- 
ing sullen and ugly, and then: “ Oh, Mother, 
oh, Dad, look!” he shrieked in an ecstasy of joy. 
“ I’m invited, too.” 

“ How nice,” exclaimed his mother, as if it 
were an entire surprise to her. 

“ Of course,” said Mr. Randall, casting a 
searching glance at his wife to see if she had 
brought it about. 

Eddie’s hands trembled so in his excitement 
and joy that he could hardly open the envelop. 
He read the contents to himself, blushing 
vividly at the last line. 


112 


“ LIMPY ” 


“Who are you to take?” questioned Tom 
curiously. 

“ Whom,” corrected his mother. 

“ Eddie’s got a girl, Eddie’s got a girl,” 
Richard began tauntingly, but a sharp glance 
from his father quickly silenced him. 

“ She’s asked me to call for Floribel Finch,” 
stammered Eddie, blushing again as he men- 
tioned the name of his divinity. 

Ever since Floribel had moved into the house 
next door, he had worshiped her, though from 
afar. He was sure she was the very prettiest 
little girl he had ever seen. Though they were 
in the same room at school, and she had been 
in attendance now for several weeks, he had 
exchanged hardly a dozen words with her. To 
escort her to a party was far beyond any 
heights his ambition had reached. He thus 
far had never even dared to walk home from 
school with her and carry her books, as some of 
the other boys did. And now, oh joy, he was 
to take her to the party ! 

Suddenly a new fear smote him. How was 
he ever to muster up courage to ask her to go 
with him? It was a momentous problem. 
He wondered how his brothers had gone about 
inviting the girls they were to take. “ You’re 


AND NO ICE-CREAM 


113 


going to take Ida Jones, aren’t you?” he asked 
Tom, trying hard to seem disinterested, yet 
with a new warmth in his heart from a sense of 
comradeship. 

“ Yep,” replied Tom carelessly, “ I told her 
about it this afternoon.” 

“ And I’m going to take Carrie Wallace,” 
chimed in Dick. “ I didn’t have to ask her. 
She asked me this afternoon what time I was 
coming for her.” 

There was not much enlightenment for 
Eddie in either of his brother’s answers. Had 
he only known the truth, they, too, had suf- 
fered from the pangs of bashfulness and had 
been as puzzled as he as to the best method of 
procedure. They, too, had arrived at the same 
conclusion that Eddie now reached and had 
privately sought their mother’s advice. Eddie 
waited until his brothers had gone out into the 
yard to play, and his father had left the room. 

“ Mother,” he said, “ how am I going to ask 
Floribel? ” 

“You see her every day at school,” his 
mother suggested; “why don’t you ask her 
there? ” 

“ I don’t want to do that,” he faltered. 
“ The fellows might tease me about it.” 


114 


“ LIMP Y ” 


“ Why not write her a note, and I will mail 
it for you tonight? ” 

“ What’ll I say? ” 

“ Get a pen and ink, and I’ll help you with 
it.” 

So Eddie, at his mother’s dictation, wrote: 
Dear Floribel : 

May I call for you about half-past seven on Fri- 
day evening and take you to the party at Mrs. Wil- 
son’s ? 

“How’ll I sign it?” he questioned, as he 
laboriously finished the note, after rejecting 
three sheets because he felt that the writing was 
not up to his usual standard. 

“Anyway you like,” his mother called out as 
she was summoned to the kitchen for a con- 
sultation with Maggie. 

After a few minutes of painful deliberation, 
Eddie wrote, “ Your true little friend,” and 
sealed it up without waiting to show it to his 
mother. 

For the next four days, until the night of 
the party, Eddie lived in a whirl of excitement. 
For two whole days he did not go near old 
Jonas. He just hung around the house, wait- 
ing eagerly for an answer to his note. What 
if she had not received it? What if she re- 


AND NO ICE-CREAM 


115 


plied that she was not going, or that she had 
another escort? Though each day he saw 
Floribel at school, they exchanged no conversa- 
tion on the subject. From her self-conscious 
air, whenever he was in the vicinity, he was al- 
most certain she must have received his note, 
yet he did not dare to ask. At last, two days 
before the party, her answer came. Eddie was 
thankful that his brothers had finished their 
breakfasts and disappeared before the postman 
arrived. Only he and his mother were at 
the table when he received the note, which 
read: 

Miss Floribel Finch accepts with Plesure Master 
Eddie Randall’s Invitashun for Friday evening. 

Somehow Eddie felt vaguely disappointed 
in the missive’s impersonality. He had hoped 
that his statement that he was her true little 
friend would bring a similarly responsive an- 
swer. 

“ Is Floribel going with you? ” his mother 
asked. 

“ Yes’m,” he answered, but he did not offer 
to show her Floribel’s note. He felt that it 
was too precious even for mother’s eyes to see. 
Whenever he was off by himself all through 
that day and the next, he took the note from 


116 


“ LIMPY ” 


his pocket and read and reread it. In the 
schoolroom, too, more often than usual, he 
found his eyes turning toward Floribel’s golden 
curls. She was no longer just the girl next 
door ; she was the goddess who had con- 
descended to go to the party with him. 

And for once he kept a secret from old 
Jonas. Though he told his comrade that he 
had been invited to the party and that he was 
going, he said never a word about taking Flori- 
bel, for thus does love intrude itself rudely be- 
tween the understanding and friendship of 
men. 

When Friday night came — and never a 
night so long in coming — promptly at half- 
past seven Eddie presented himself at the 
Finches’ front door and rang the bell, his heart 
palpitating wildly. 

“ Come in and sit down,” said Mr. Finch. 
“ Floribel will be down in a moment.” 

Eddie seated himself on the edge of the sofa; 
Mr. Finch went on reading his paper, paying 
no attention to him. Eddie tried to think of 
something to say for politeness’ sake but failed. 
So he just sat there fidgeting nervously. 

By and by down came Floribel escorted by 
her mother, her golden curls freshly done, her 


AND NO ICE-CREAM 


117 


starched white skirts standing out stiffly from 
her white stockings, a wonderful blue cape cov- 
ering her shoulders, and a great bow of ribbon 
of the same hue adorning her hair, to Eddie’s 
eyes the most wonderful vision he had ever 
seen. 

Mindful of his manners, he got up as they 
entered the room, and stood there far too em- 
barrassed for words. 

“ My, how nice you both look,” said Mrs. 
Finch. 44 Now run along, children, so you 
won’t be late.” 

With the width of the sidewalk between 
them, the two marched up the street, both too 
painfully self-conscious to attempt conversa- 
tion. Not a word did either of them utter till 
they reached the corner of Wood Street. 

44 Let’s take the railroad-track,” said Flori- 
bel, 44 it’s shorter.” 

44 Yes,” said Eddie, 44 it’s shorter.” 

He would much have preferred going around 
the other way. It was hard work for him to 
walk on the railroad-ties. Fie took a long step 
with one leg and a short one with the other. 
He had to watch his feet constantly to keep 
from stumbling. But the spirit of gallantry 
was his. If Floribel had wanted to walk up 


118 


“ LIMPY ” 


the creek, he would have gone. Together they 
started up the tracks. 

“ Isn’t the moon pretty tonight? ” said Flori- 
bel. 

Up till that moment Eddie had forgotten 
there was a moon. He gazed upward, his lame 
foot caught on a tie, he stumbled, tried vainly 
to regain his balance, and crashed full length 
on the ties. 

Floribel stood aghast at her courtier’s mis- 
hap. His hands all soiled and bruised, Eddie, 
overcome with confusion, scrambled to his feet. 
Though he had twisted his lame leg painfully, 
he set his teeth and said nothing about it. 

“ Oh,” shrilled Floribel, “ you’ve torn your 
pants! ” 

Sure enough, right across the knee of his best 
trousers was a great gaping tear. His stock- 
ing under it, too, was torn and the bare flesh 
showed through. The pain of his aching limb 
was forgotten in the tragedy of this new catas- 
trophe. 

What should he do about it? He was 
tempted to leave Floribel right where she stood 
and to go home as fast as he could. How was 
it possible for him to go to the party with that 
great gaping tear? Every one would look at 


AND NO ICE-CREAM 


119 


it, and the boys would laugh — yes, and the 
girls, too. Yet he felt he must go on. He 
could not leave Floribel there alone. 

“ Come on,” he said almost gruffly. 

“ You’re sure you didn’t hurt yourself when 
you fell?” asked Floribel. Her first feeling 
had been one of vexation at her cavalier for his 
awkwardness, but that quickly passed. Nat- 
urally a kind-hearted little girl, she really was 
concerned about his mishap, and, besides, she 
had made up her mind weeks ago that she 
liked Eddie Randall very much, his stand- 
ing in the schoolroom compelling her admira- 
tion. 

“ Naw, I’m not hurt. That’s nothing. I 
often fall,” protested Eddie, determined to put 
on as brave a front as possible before his lady- 
love. 

Timidly Floribel’s hand reached out and 
seized his and silently they trudged down the 
tracks together. In the new joy of feeling 
her fingers clasped in his, Eddie for the mo- 
ment forgot his woes, almost forgot that his 
pants — his best pants — were torn. He was 
having his first experience with that eternal 
sympathy of woman — the needed hand 
reached out so silently, so tenderly, and oh, so 


120 


LIMPY ” 


often, to help us menfolk over the rough, cruel 
places in life’s path. The very touch of Flori- 
bel’s fingers brought sweet comfort to him and 
filled him with an unwonted sense of peace and 
happiness. 

No further word was spoken between them 
until they turned in at the Wilsons’ gate. As 
the lights of the house, all prepared for the 
party, loomed up before them, the vexatious 
problem in Floribel’s mind found voice. 

“ ‘ What are you going to do about your 
pants?” she questioned timidly. 

“Pooh! I don’t mind a little thing like 
that,” replied Eddie, made valorous by the 
sympathetic touch of her soft fingers. 

But he did mind — very much. It was one 
thing to say courageous things out there in the 
dark. It was quite another thing to face a 
merry crowd all in their best in the brilliantly 
lighted rooms — to face them with a ragged 
tear clear across the knee of his trousers. For- 
tunately in the bustle of arriving guests no one 
noticed his plight. He hung his cap on the 
hat-rack and slunk into the living-room where 
he hastened to find a seat on the sofa. He dis- 
covered after some experimenting that if he sat 
with one knee crossed over the other, no one 


AND NO ICE-CREAM 121 

could see the tear. So there he sat in a stiff, 
uncomfortable attitude. 

Floribel, too, found that in the midst of the 
merry throng things took on a different aspect. 
Though she felt sorry for Eddie, she did not 
feel brave enough to stick by his side. She 
was afraid everybody would laugh at his torn 
trousers. She went up-stairs to lay off her 
cloak and when she came down sought a corner 
of the room as far distant as possible from 
Eddie. Though occasionally she cast a shy 
glance in his direction, she kept carefully away 
from him all the evening. She could not en- 
dure the thought of hearing her own particular 
cavalier jeered at. 

Meanwhile, Eddie just sat there, carefully 
keeping his legs crossed. 

“ Come on, Eddie,” said Mrs. Wilson, 
“ we’re going to play post-office. Don’t you 
want to play? ” 

“ No’m,” said Eddie. “ I’d rather sit here.” 

So all the long evening Eddie sat there on 
the sofa all by himself. His legs grew stiff 
and painful, but he did not dare move them. 
One foot went to sleep, and he was in an agony 
of discomfort, but more than anything he 
dreaded discovery of his mishap : so, somehow, 


122 


LIMP Y ” 


he managed to endure it. The other guests, 
with all the thoughtlessness of youth, paid lit- 
tle attention to him, being intent on their own 
pleasures. 

About ten o’clock Mrs. Wilson threw open 
the doors into the dining-room. 

“ Come on, boys and girls,” she said ; “ it’s 
time for refreshments. Get your partners.” 

Eddie sat there aghast at the announcement. 
After all his pains to conceal his plight, dis- 
covery now seemed inevitable. He felt he just 
could not get up now and go out to the dining- 
room with the others. But what about Flori- 
bel? He had brought her there. He would 
be expected to take her out for refreshments. 
As he looked about for her, he saw her merrily 
flitting into the dining-room with another 
couple. She had not even waited for him. 
Well, now, certainly he would not go into the 
dining-room. 

Mrs. Wilson, busy with serving her guests, 
did not note his absence from the room. As he 
sat there he could hear the shouts and laughter 
that came as the mottoes were pulled apart and 
the paper caps donned. A great lump rose in 
his throat. Parties were no fun. He wished 
he had not come. Old Jonas had been right 


AND NO ICE-CREAM 


123 


about it. He would have had a much better 
time if he had stayed at home. He took ad- 
vantage of the absence of every one from the 
room to stretch his legs, hastily crossing them 
again every time he thought he heard any one 
coming. 

He heard the clatter of spoons as the ice- 
cream was passed. Ice-cream — and he was 
not getting any of it! He decided to slip 
quietly out and go home. He rose to his feet 
and then sat down again. No, he didn’t dare 
to try that. Some one would be sure to hear 
him, and he would be discovered. And there 
was Floribel, too. He must wait and take her 
home. So he sat there, alone, wretched, miser- 
able, a pathetic little figure on the great sofa. 

By and by the other children came trooping 
back. No one seemed to have missed him and 
he felt sadly glad of it. Mrs. Wilson spied 
him still sitting on the sofa and could not recall 
having served him with any supper. 

44 Why, Eddie Randall,” she said, 44 1 don’t 
believe you had any ice-cream.” 

44 1 didn’t want any,” he said solemnly, his 
words almost choking him. If she said an- 
other word to him, he felt that he was going to 
cry and be disgraced forever. 


124 


LIMPY 


Something in his face warned Mrs. Wilson 
of his state of mind, and she forbore to question 
him further. Anyhow, she remembered, the 
ice-cream was all gone. It was Eddie’s own 
fault if he had had none. Besides, she must 
see to the dancing. 

As eleven o’clock came, the girls began slip- 
ping out of the room in groups of two and 
three to get their coats up-stairs, the boys fol- 
lowing a little later as far as the hall. Eddie 
waited till the last and followed a group of 
boys out. He felt safer now. Probably in the 
dimmer light of the hall no one would notice his 
pants. By the time he got his cap and reached 
the foot of the staircase at least half of the 
couples had said their adieux and departed. 
One by one the girls came down and joined 
their escorts. Last in line, he stood there wait- 
ing for Eloribel. Finally every one had gone 
but him. Mrs. Wilson and her niece came 
down the stairs together. 

“ Waiting to say good night? ” Mrs. Wilson 
called out, as she spied the solitary little figure 
at the foot of the stairs. 

“ No’m,” said Eddie truthfully, rather than 
politely, “ I’m waiting for Floribel.” 

“ Why, she left long ago,” said Mrs. Wil- 


AND NO ICE-CREAM 


125 


son’s niece. “ She went home with your 
brother Tom and Carrie Wallace.” 

In a daze of despair Eddie left the Wilson 
house. Miserable, despondent, bitter toward 
all the world, he trudged home alone along the 
railroad tracks. Why, oh, why had he ever 
gone to the party? Old Jonas was right. 
Parties weren’t gold. He had not had any fun 
at all. He had not even had any of the 
ice-cream. And Floribel — probably Floribel 
would never speak to him again, would never 
want to see him ever again. He had disgraced 
her and himself forever. 

As he entered the house just behind his 
brothers, it was with great relief he heard Dad 
say: “ You boys hustle right upstairs to bed. 
You’ve stayed up late enough as it is. We’ll 
talk about the party tomorrow.” 

He was glad there were no explanations to 
make that evening. He was glad that even 
mother, as she kissed him good night, seemed to 
take it for granted that he had had a good time. 
It was all too terrible, too distressing to talk 
about to any one. 

At breakfast the next morning he let his 
brothers do all the talking. In the afternoon, 
as usual, he went to see old Jonas. 


126 


“ LIMPY ” 


“ And how was the party? ” old Jonas asked. 
“ You remember you promised to tell me all 
about it.” 

“ There’s nothing to tell,” said Eddie. 


CHAPTER SIX 


ACCORDING TO CODE 

66 T GOT ten demerits in school today,” an- 
il nounced Edward Haverford Randall. 

“ What for? ” asked old Jonas Tucker. 
“ Were you a bad boy? ” 

“ I don’t know,” answered Eddie thought- 
fully. 

For a moment or two the grizzled veteran 
meditatively studied the face of ten and then 
commanded: “ Tell me about it. When a 
fellow don’t know whether he’s been bad or 
not, there’s sure something behind it.” 

“ It was this way,” began Eddie. “ Fatty 
Bullen threw a paper-wad at Froggie 
Sweeney, and Froggie ducked, and it hit the 
blackboard and stuck there, and teacher saw 
it.” 

“ So,” chuckled old Jonas, “ they still throw 
paper-wads, do they? They did that when I 
was a lad.” 

“ Yes,” replied Eddie, “ some of the boys 
still do it. So the teacher asked who did it, and 


128 


“ LIMPY ” 


nobody said a word. Then she asked me, 
‘ Eddie, do you know who threw that paper- 
wad? ’ I said I did. Then she asked, 4 Who 
was it?’” 

“ You didn’t tell, did you? ” queried Jonas, 
assuming a horrified air. 

“ No,” replied Eddie, “ I didn’t. I was go- 
ing to, and then I remembered.” 

“ Remembered what? ” 

“ What Brother Tom said.” 

“ What was that? ” 

44 Tom says no fellow that’s game ever 
tattles.” 

“ Tom’s right,” old Jonas affirmed approv- 
ingly. “ What happened then? ” 

4 4 She said she would give me ten demerits 
unless I told her, and I wouldn’t tell.” 

44 So she didn’t find out, did she? ” 

44 Oh, yes, she did,” said Eddie. 44 Mary Et- 
tinger told her.” 

44 Girls most always do,” commented Jonas, 
nodding understandingly. 

44 But you don’t think I was bad for not tell- 
ing? ” questioned Eddie anxiously. 

44 Yes and no,” replied the old man thought- 
fully. 44 You see, Eddie, there’s two sides to 
every question. From the teacher’s point of 


ACCORDING TO CODE 129 


view I suppose you undoubtedly was bad. 
It’s her business to keep order in the school, 
and to find out as best she can who’s to blame 
for the mischief. Looking at it another way 
— the man’s way of seeing it — I think you did 
exactly right.” 

“ And you don’t think I ought to have got 
the demerits? ” 

“ I didn’t say that either,” old Jonas ob- 
jected. “ She told you to do something, you 
decided not to do it} it was up to you to take 
whatever punishment was coming. A man — 
a real man — can’t ever be a tattle-tale. If 
he’s done something himself, and is asked about 
it, why, of course, it’s right for him to tell. 
There’s only himself to be blamed and punished 
for it. If it’s something another fellow did, 
he has got to keep his mouth shut, no matter 
what it costs. That’s according to code.” 

“ According to code? ” Eddie repeated with 
a puzzled air. “ What’s code mean? ” 

“ A code is something everybody has agreed 
to. For instance, people get together and 
say this is right and that’s wrong, and that’s 
the code of law. Mostly law-codes are written 
down and passed by legislatures and such. 
But all, codes are not written. It is the code 


130 


“ LIMP Y ” 


of the sea for a captain to be the last to leave 
his sinking ship; it’s railroad-code for the en- 
gineer to stick to his engine even when he sees 
a collision coming ; it’s the code of men to save 
women and children first when there’s a fire.” 

“ I think I understand now,” said Eddie. 

“ So a long time ago, centuries, maybe, men 
decided that one man mustn’t tell on another 
man. I don’t know as it is written down 
anywhere, but that has been man’s code ever 
since.” 

“ Isn’t it women’s code, too?” 

“ I can’t say as to that. You see, Eddie, I 
neyer had a wife nor a daughter, so I don’t 
know much about womenfolks. Maybe the 
women never agreed to it, and maybe that’s 
why girls tell teacher more often than boys do. 
Maybe women have a code of their own. 
There are lots of ways they are different and 
better than men. Women, though, often don’t 
see things the way men do. Very likely your 
teacher is sure she was right and that you were 
wrong, but, just the same, I say you hadn’t 
ought to have told.” 

“ I wonder what mother will say about it,” 
said Eddie soberly, more to himself than to old 
Jonas. 


ACCORDING TO CODE 131 


“ Mothers, women that have sons of their 
own,” declared the old man, “ are pretty apt to 
understand the code. I’ll bet your mother will 
say you did perfectly right.” 

“ I hope she does,” said Eddie doubtfully; 
“ it’s the very first time I ever had any de- 
merits.” 

He had contemplated putting off telling his 
mother about it until his weekly report came 
home, but somehow it was hard to keep secrets 
from mother. He found himself telling her 
all about it that nighfe as she massaged his leg 
after he was in bed. 

“ Miss McGuffey had no business trying to 
make you tattle,” exclaimed his mother indig- 
nantly. “ You did perfectly right not to 
tell.” 

“ I knew you would understand,” cried Ed- 
die gleefully. 

“ I’m going right along with you to school 
in the morning and give that teacher a piece of 
my mind.” 

“ Oh, mother,” cried Eddie in alarm, “ please 
don’t do anything like that ! ” 

“ Why not? ” asked Mrs. Randall, puzzled at 
his perturbation. 

“ ’Cause,” he explained falteringly, “ the fel- 


132 “ LIMPY ” 

lows all guy a fellow whose mother comes to 
school.” 

“ Well,” she persisted, “ at least I’m going to 
write her a note.” 

“ Oh, no, mother,” he begged, “ please don’t 
do that either.” 

“ Why not ? It certainly was not fair to give 
you all those demerits?” 

“ Oh, that’s all right,” her son explained. 
“ If I don’t do what she tells me to, it’s up to 
me to take the consequences. That’s accord- 
ing to code.” 

“ What funny notions you do get,” said his 
mother as she kissed him good night. “ I’ll 
talk with your father about it.” 

A good deal to Mrs. Randall’s amazement, 
her husband was quite in accord with Eddie. 
She could not understand it. She knew that 
he as well as she had been proud of Eddie’s 
long record of perfect behavior. 

“ Don’t you interfere,” cautioned her hus- 
band. “ The boy has got to learn to fight his 
own battles. You would make a mollycoddle 
of him if you had your way. I’m glad to see 
that he is getting spunk enough to defy the 
teacher once in a while. Don’t you do any- 
thing about it.” 


ACCORDING TO CODE 


133 


“ Well, maybe you know best,” said Mrs. 
Randall, still unconvinced. 

So nothing more was done about it, and no 
comments were made on Eddie’s report-card 
when it came home. Despite the disgrace of 
ten demerits, life at school and at home went on 
as usual. Yet there was one difference, ob- 
servable only to Eddie himself. With a little 
pang of regret, he noted that Miss McGuffey 
did not seem to trust him quite as much as be- 
fore. Although he got just as good marks as 
formerly, and she always spoke as pleasantly 
to him as before, he could not help noticing that 
now when she wanted some little errand done, 
she asked some one else to do it — generally one 
of the girls. Then two weeks later came Ed- 
die’s disgrace. 

The morning was rainy. Eddie, starting 
from home a little earlier than usual because 
the pavements were slippery, arrived at the 
school building twenty minutes before nine. 
At the door he met Fatty Bullen and Froggie 
Sweeney, driven to cover by the rain. As it 
was Friday morning, when special exercises 
were held in the assembly-room, they went di- 
rectly there instead of to their classroom, being 
the first arrivals. 


134 


“ LIMP Y ” 


“ Oh, gee! ” cried Froggie exultantly as they 
entered, “ look what’s doin’ ! ” 

With amazed eyes the three of them gazed 
at the rostrum. Along one side of the room 
had stood a great case of stuffed birds, pre- 
sented to the school by one of the trustees. 
During the night some one had gotten into the 
building and had broken open this case. 
There on the rostrum in each teacher’s place 
was a bird. On Principal Phillips’s desk was 
a great ruffed owl. At the piano, where Miss 
Estep, always clad in somber black, played 
for the singing, was a great black crow. Miss 
McGuffey’s chair was occupied by a lopsided 
crane that grotesquely reminded the boys of 
her long, thin neck. Each bird, in fact, had 
been carefully placed to caricature the teacher 
whose place it occupied. 

“ Ain’t it great! ” cried Fatty Bullen admir- 
ingly. 

“ I wonder who did it,” said Eddie. 

“ We’re the first here,” declared Froggie 
with the wisdom of past performances. “ Old 
Phillips will be sure to blame it on us.” 

“ But we didn’t do it,” protested Eddie, add- 
ing as an afterthought, “ at least, I didn’t have 
anything to do with it.” 


ACCORDING TO CODE 135 


“ Me neither,” said Fatty. 

“Nor me,” echoed Froggie; “but all the 
same he’ll make us try to tell who did.” 

“ Tell you what,” suggested Fatty with sud- 
den inspiration, “ let’s agree not to answer any 
questions. Let him find out as best he can. 
If everybody’ll do that, how’s he going to find 
out anything?” 

“ Great ! ” cried Froggie. “ Whatever he 
asks, we’ll just up and say, 4 We decline to an- 
swer any questions.’ ” 

“ That’s the ticket,” said Fatty. “ How 
about it, Limpy? ” 

Eddie was cogitating. Mother and old 
Jonas and brother Tom were all agreed that a 
boy must not be a tattle-tale. If he had known 
who took out the birds, he felt that it would be 
according to code not to tell. So long as he 
knew nothing whatever about it, what harm 
could there be in refusing to answer any ques- 
tions? 

“ All right,” he said, “ I agree.” 

“ Cross your heart and hope I may die? ” de- 
manded Froggie. 

“ Cross my heart and hope I may die,” he 
repeated solemnly. 

Just then an amazed gasp at the door an- 


136 


“ LIMPY ” 


nounced the arrival of one of the teachers. 
She took one look and fled to inform the prin- 
cipal. With anxious interest the three boys 
sat there awaiting developments. A moment 
later Professor Phillips, looking for all the 
world like the ruffed old owl that sat at his 
desk, strode into the room followed by the jani- 
tor. Hastily he directed the removal of the 
offending birds. Froggie Sweeney just could 
not help tittering. Angrily the principal 
turned on the three boys. 

“ Come to my room at once,” he commanded. 

In the majesty of offended dignity he es- 
corted them thither and bade them sit down. 

“ Wait here until after the morning exercises 
are over,” he directed, stalking out of the room 
and locking the door behind him. 

“ I know boys,” he muttered in the hallway. 
“ It was those three who did it. They thought 
they would divert suspicion from themselves by 
being the first to arrive.” 

Meanwhile the trio sat in the principal’s 
room, vaguely terrified, wondering curiously 
what was going to happen. If they could have 
faced the ordeal of the principal’s questioning 
at once, as they had expected, it would have 
been much easier. The longer the agony was 


ACCORDING TO CODE 137 

deferred the more appalling the prospect 
seemed. 

Froggie Sweeney began to stir uneasily in 
his chair. “ Come on,” he suggested, “ let’s 
beat it.” 

“ The door’s locked,” objected the more tim- 
orous Fatty Bullen. 

“ Let’s climb out the window and drop 
down,” said the ever resourceful Froggie. “ It 
ain’t much of a drop.” 

“ Limp couldn’t make it,” objected Fatty, 
speaking one word for Eddie and two for him- 
self. His avoirdupois did not qualify him as 
a jumper. 

“ I could, too, make it,” retorted Eddie in- 
dignantly. 

“ Come on, then,” said Froggie. 

“ No,” said Eddie firmly. “ I’m not going 
to.” 

“Why not?” demanded Froggie. “It 
can’t be any worse for us than it is now. He’ll 
fire us all anyhow.” 

“What for?” asked Eddie, in consterna- 
tion at the thought. “ We haven’t done any- 
thing.” 

“ Makes no differ,” said Froggie, “ you’ll 
see. Come on.” 


138 


“ LIMPY ” 


“ No,” said Eddie, “ I won’t. I’m going to 
stay.” 

“ So’m I,” decided Fatty. 

“ You ain’t going to squeal? ” 

“ No,” said Eddie. “ I agreed not to an- 
swer any questions. I’ll keep my ’greement. 
But I’m not going to run away.” 

Outvoted, Froggie relapsed into sullen si- 
lence. In Eddie’s mind was running the chat 
he had had with old Jonas a couple of weeks 
before. He had made a promise, and he must 
keep it. Running away, he felt, would not be 
according to code. Having committed him- 
self, he must stay and take the consequences — 
even if it meant his being suspended or ex- 
pelled. Somehow, in spite of Froggie’s pre- 
diction, he could not bring himself to expect 
any such punishment. What had they done? 
While he communed with himself, footsteps 
were heard in the hall outside. 

“ Hist, here he comes,” whispered Froggie. 
“ Remember our agreement.” 

“ Sure,” breathed Eddie and Fatty, “ cross 
my heart.” 

Into the room strode the principal, still badly 
ruffled from the morning’s unpleasant occur- 
rences. He seated himself at his desk and 


ACCORDING TO CODE 139 


gazed severely at the three culprits arrayed be- 
fore him. He was positive that in Fatty Bul- 
len and Froggie Sweeney he had the ring- 
leaders in the mischief. He knew them both 
of old. For Eddie’s association with them he 
found it hard to account. Yet he recalled 
that only a few days before Miss Me Guffey 
had told him of the ten demerits, and had la- 
mented that she feared the youngest of the 
Randalls was arriving at “ the tough age.” 
Principal Phillips wagged his head sagaciously 
at the thought. He knew boys. They were 
all alike, all bad, all inclined to mischief. Of 
course, Eddie was guilty, he decided, without 
waiting to hear the evidence. 

The inquisition began. “ Sweeney,” said the 
principal in his severest manner, “ what do you 
know about this disgraceful affair? ” 

“ I got nothing to say,” asserted Froggie, 
trying to assume an injured air. 

“ Either you will at once confess your part in 
this, or I will suspend you for two weeks,” the 
principal announced, his strained temper snap- 
ping under the boy’s defiance. 

Principal and pupil glared at each other. It 
may be that the human eye can subdue a rag- 
ing lion; it seldom has much effect on a stub- 


140 


LIMPY ” 


born boy. Sullenly, half under his breath, 
Sweeney kept repeating the phrase, “ I ain’t 
got nothing to say.” 

“ Very well,” snorted Professor Phillips, 
turning to Fatty. 

“ And you — Bullen — what have you to 
say for yourself? ” 

Though Froggie had faithfully remembered 
the pact, he had forgotten the formula. Not 
so with Fatty Bullen. “ I decline to answer 
any questions,” he repeated with parrot-like 
accuracy. 

The principal wasted little time with him. 
“ You’re suspended for two weeks, too,” he an- 
nounced, turning then to Eddie. 

Under most circumstances he would have 
been disposed to deal gently with the little 
lame boy. Aside from any natural sympathy 
to be expected, Eddie’s record had hitherto 
been most excellent. It was to Eddie he was 
looking now for a confession that would clear 
up the whole matter. He confidently ex- 
pected that his first question would bring forth 
information which would confirm his judg- 
ment as to the culprits. Of course, Eddie 
would betray his comrades. Especially if he 
went at the boy rough-handed, he would be 



He announced firmly, “ I decline to answer any questions.” 
Page lJf2. 





ACCORDING TO CODE 141 

sure to frighten him into telling everything he 
knew. 

“ You, Randall,” he commanded, in the same 
brusque, harsh tone he had used toward the 
others, “ tell me instantly everything you know 
about this.” 

Eddie gulped, his knees began knocking to- 
gether, his mouth and lips went suddenly dry, 
his voice disappeared somewhere away down in 
the bottom of his throat. There came a hard 
lump in his stomach, or maybe it was his heart, 
his face, too, went white, and in his eyes was 
pleading terror. The confident principal 
smiled grimly. 

Froggie and Fatty eyed him with sudden 
apprehension. Thus far their plan had 
worked well. Was Eddie going to spoil it all 
by weakening? 

Eddie, if the truth must be told, wanted very 
badly to break the compact. It would be so 
easy to say respectfully: “ I know nothing at 
all about it, sir. I have no idea who did it.” 
If he did so, he felt certain that all his trouble 
would be over. On the other hand, if he per- 
sisted in keeping to the agreement, he realized 
that he, too, would be suspended at once, as 
the others had been. 


142 


“ LIMPY ” 


Suspended! Disgraced! He, Edward Ha- 
verford Randall, the star good-conduct 
pupil of the whole school! What would peo- 
ple think? What would mother say? What 
would dad say? Somehow it did not trouble 
him in the least as to what old Jonas would 
say or would think about it. Whatever hap- 
pened, old Jonas always seemed to under- 
stand. 

He pictured himself slinking along the 
streets, people pointing the finger of scorn at 
him, and saying: “ There goes Limpy Ran- 
dall. He’s been suspended from school.” 

He pictured his mother’s tears. She would 
be so ashamed of him, and would talk to him 
about it, as sometimes she talked to Tom and 
Richard when they had been bad. He just 
felt that he could not be suspended. Yet there 
was the agreement. He had promised, “ cross 
my heart,” to stand by the others. He must 
do it. That was according to code. 

“ Well? ” said the principal impatiently. 

‘‘I — I — ” Eddie began falteringly, then 
gaining new strength from his firm resolve to 
keep to the code, he announced firmly, “ I de- 
cline to answer any questions.” 

Principal Phillips eyed him in amazement. 


ACCORDING TO CODE 143 


He had expected to encounter no resistance 
whatever from the wan little cripple. “ Sus- 
pended,” he snapped. “ I shall send letters to 
your parents today, telling them that each of 
you has been suspended for two weeks. You 
are to go right home at once. I will send up 
for your hats and books.” 

Silently the three of them waited until their 
school property and their hats were in their 
possession ; silently they permitted the still in- 
dignant principal to herd them out of the build- 
ing, the disconsolate little lame boy leading the 
ignominious procession. As soon as they were 
safe around the corner up went Froggie 
Sweeney’s cap in the air. 

“ Oh, goody! ” he cried. “ No more school 
for two weeks.” 

“ Great!” cried Fatty Bullen, with enthu- 
siasm wholly forced. He was not at all cer- 
tain how his suspension would be viewed by his 
parents. 

Eddie said nothing at all. He slipped 
quietly away from the others and walked dis- 
mally home through the rain. It was different 
with him : he liked school — and what was 
mother going to say about it? 

He decided to tell her at once and have it 


144 


“ LIMPY 


over. “ I’m suspended,” he burst forth as he 
hobbled into the house. 

“ What? ” cried Mrs. Randall, hardly believ- 
ing her ears. If it had been Tom or Richard, 
especially Richard, it would not have surprised 
her, but Eddie — it seemed impossible. As 
she looked into her little son’s face, the all-see- 
ing mother-eye read there something of the 
agony he was suffering, and the mother-heart 
realized how keenly he was feeling the disgrace. 
“ Tell mother all about it,” she said quite 
calmly, gathering him into her lap. 

There Eddie quickly sobbed out the whole 
story, growing more and more comforted as he 
felt the loving arms drawing him closer and 
closer. Having finished his tale, he anxiously 
awaited mother’s verdict. 

“ Well, Eddie, dear,” she counseled, “ don’t 
worry any more about it now. We’ll talk it 
over with your father tonight and see what he 
says. I don’t think it was fair to send you 
home for something you didn’t do or didn’t 
know anything about. If you have to stay 
suspended, mother’ll help you at home with 
your lessons so that you will not get be- 
hind.” 

That evening Mrs. Randall told her husband 


ACCORDING TO CODE 145 


all about it, waxing indignant as she recited 
how unfair the principal had been in suspend- 
ing Eddie. “ He hadn’t done anything and 
didn’t know who did do it. He was suspended 
just because he wouldn’t tattle, and I don’t 
think it’s fair or right.” 

Mr. Randall only laughed. “ Eddie is some 
kid,” he said admiringly; “there’s nothing of 
the quitter about him. Let him stay sus- 
pended. It will do him good. I was sus- 
pended once myself.” 

Mrs. Randall shook her head sadly. 
“ There are times,” she observed plaintively, 
“ when I just can’t understand you, or Eddie 
either.” 

“ I suppose not,” said Mr. Randall indiffer- 
ently, picking up the evening paper. 

Two weeks later the trio of culprits returned 
to school. At noon they were comparing 
notes. 

“ Say, what do you think?” asked Froggie 
Sweeney indignantly. “ Old Phillips found 
out last week that it wasn’t us at all, that it was 
Ed Gross and his gang that done it.” 

“ How’d you find out? ” asked Fatty Bul- 
len. 


140 


“ LIMPY ” 


“ Jimmy Flinn heard him telling one of the 
teachers.” 

“ Gee! ” exclaimed Fatty with an aggrieved 
air, “ and he let us stay suspended just the 
same. Ain’t he the mean old thing? ” 

Eddie Randall listened in puzzled silence. 
It did seem mean to him that when Professor 
Phillips learned the truth he had made no 
amends to the three already punished. Eddie 
had not yet learned that other code, the code of 
grown folk, that when they do make mistakes 
they must never admit it to youngsters. 


CHAPTER SEVEN 


A CHANGED AMBITION 

4 4 TT’S mighty mean of dad not to let me do 

X it,” complained Tom. 

“ It sure is,” agreed Richard. 

“ I wonder why he wouldn’t? ” asked Eddie. 

The place was the Randall barn. The time 
was Saturday afternoon. It was raining, 
which accounted for all three boys being in that 
particular place at such a time as the afternoon 
of a holiday. The episode under discussion 
was Hen Ross’s quitting school to drive a 
wagon for the steam laundry. 

“ He’s to get twenty dollars a month for 
doin’ it,” continued Tom in an aggrieved man- 
ner. “ An’ he says they’ll need another boy 
Monday, and he could have got the job for me 
as easy as not.” 

“ Twenty dollars ! ” exclaimed Dick. “ My, 
that’s a lot ! ” He was silent for a moment 
or two as he tried vainly to conjecture the 
purchasing possibilities of such an amount. 
“ Did you tell dad about the money? ” 


148 


“ LIMPY ” 


“ Sure I did,” Tom answered, “ an’ he just 
laughed an’ said he guessed he could earn 
enough for the family for a few years yet.” 

“ Did you tell mother about it? ” asked Ed- 
die. 

“ Naw, of course I didn’t. Women always 
want a fellow to keep on going to school.” 

“ Does Hen Ross drive the wagon all by 
himself? ” questioned Eddie. 

“ No,” admitted Tom reluctantly. “ That 
is, not yet. There’s a man on the wagon with 
him. You see, he’s got to learn the route first.” 

“ Twenty dollars is a lot of money,” sighed 
Richard. 

“ It sure is,” said Tom. “ And dad needs 
money, too. I heard him and mother talking 
last night about taking Limpy to New York 
to see some big doctor and see if he couldn’t be 
cured, and dad said he could not afford it yet.” 

The red of shame crept into little Eddie’s 
cheeks. It hurt so when Tom or Dick thought- 
lessly called him “ Limpy.” It was bad 
enough to go through life wearing a heavy iron 
brace on his leg, bitter enough not to be able to 
run and jump and swim, terrible enough to be 
always left at home when the other boys went 
off on fishing and nutting expeditions. Surely 


A CHANGED AMBITION 149 


it was punishment enough to have such a lot, 
to limp when you walked, to be always picked 
last when they were choosing sides, never to he 
able to do ever so many things other boys did, 
without having your own big brother call you 
by the hated name of “ Limpy.” The tears all 
but welled up in his eyes, and a great lump 
came into his throat. 

Tom, however, was too full of his own 
troubles to notice the anguish his careless epi- 
thet had caused Eddie. 

“ Never mind,” he said boastfully, “ just you 
wait a couple of years and watch me. I’ll be 
sixteen then, and I’m going to run away.” 

“You’re not, really?” breathed Richard 
enviously. 

“ I just am, and I’ll make a lot of money, 
too.” 

“ What are you going to do? ” asked Eddie, 
who was in many respects the most practical 
member of the trio. 

“ I’m going to be a railroad conductor. 
They travel everywhere and see everything, 
and it never costs them a cent. They get big 
wages, too. Nick Dolan’s father’s a con- 
ductor, and he gets seventy-five or eighty dol- 
lars a month. Nick told me so. By and by 


150 


“ LIMPY 


lie’s going to get an express run, and then he’ll 
get more, maybe a hundred dollars. Think of 
that.” 

“ Oh, pooh,” said Richard, “ being a conduc- 
tor’s no fun. They just go back and forth be- 
tween the same places all the time and walk 
through the trains. I’m going to be a drum- 
mer. You get to travel everywhere and have 
a lot more fun. What are you going to be, 
Eddie?” 

A gleam of ambition lightened the youngest 
boy’s face. He knew well what he wanted to 
be. His mind had long been made up. A 
martial soul dwelt in his puny body. 

“ I’m going to be a soldier, a great general,” 
he announced. 

“ Pooh,” Dick snickered derisively, “ you 
can’t ever be a general. They have to ride 
horses and lead charges. You never could get 
up on a horse. You’re too lame.” 

Again the red crept into Eddie’s face. 
Bravely he swallowed back his tears. “ Too 
lame ” always interfered with all his pleasures 
and ambitions. However, if he could not be a 
general, he had other strings to his bow. 

“ Well, then,” he said almost defiantly, “ I’m 
going to be a missionary to Japan.” 


A CHANGED AMBITION 151 


Tom and Richard eyed him curiously. In 
all their plans for the future neither of them 
had ever conceived any occupation that would 
take them to such a far-off place. Japan to 
them was little more than a name in the geog- 
raphy. Eddie, as it happened, had been read- 
ing a Sunday-school book written by a mission- 
ary about Japan, and the story he read there of 
the quaint costumes and curious habits of the 
people had fascinated him beyond measure. 

“ I could be a missionary, couldn’t I, Tom? ” 
he asked anxiously. 

“ I don’t know,” said Tom dubiously. 
“ You’d have to travel a lot and maybe walk a 
lot.” 

“ ’Course he couldn’t,” added Richard, “ he’s 
too lame. There’s mighty little lame fellows 
can do.” 

“ I’m not too lame. I will be a missionary,” 
cried Eddie despairingly, as he fled through the 
rain to the house. It was a habit of his, when- 
ever people began to talk about his lameness, 
to get out of the way. He just could not stand 
it to have his infirmity discussed even by the 
members of his own family. 

Once safe in the house, he found his beloved 
book about Japan and settled himself on the 


152 


“ LIMPY ’> 


dining-room lounge to reread it, this time from 
a new view-point. He tried with each page to 
put himself in the missionary’s place, to pic- 
ture himself doing the things the missionary 
had done. Only once was he discouraged, as 
he came to a chapter in which a painful pilgrim- 
age up a steep mountain-side to visit a sacred 
shrine was described. 

“ Maybe I couldn’t do that,” he sighed, “ but 
I don’t believe I’m too lame to go as a mission- 
ary. I’ll ask mother tonight.” 

All through supper and the rest of the eve- 
ning he had a splendid time depicting mentally 
his adventures as a missionary, and was so silent 
about it that his mother grew worried. Sev- 
eral times she looked anxiously at him, and was 
about to ask if he wasn’t feeling well, but each 
time she decided to let him alone. As she came 
up to his bedroom to kiss him good night and 
to massage his le,g, she felt his forehead anx- 
iously for signs of fever, for his cheeks were 
flushed, and his eyes were sparkling with what 
seemed to her unnatural brightness. 

“ Mother,” he began, “ did you ever hear of 
a lame missionary? ” 

“What a funny question! No, I don’t 
think I ever did.” 


A CHANGED AMBITION 153 

“ Do you think I’m too lame to be a mission- 
ary?” 

“ Oh, no indeed,” she replied quickly. 
“ You’re not so very lame now.” 

“ But,” he persisted, “ supposing I went to 
Japan? ” 

“No, of course not. You could go any- 
where as well as any one else.” 

“ What does a missionary have to do? ” 

Mrs. Randall never lost an opportunity to 
impress a lesson on her sons. 

“ A missionary,” she explained, “ is a man 
who is very, very good, so that he can teach 
other people how to be good.” 

“ Am I good enough to be a missionary? ” 

“ Yes,” said his mother, “ you are a very 
good boy. If you keep on being good, some 
day you may become a missionary.” 

“ Well,” announced Eddie with conviction, 
“ I’m going to be just as good as I can be, and 
when I grow up, I’m going to go as a mission- 
ary to Japan. Dick said I was too lame, but 
I’ll show him.” 

“ Richard must not say things like that,” 
said his mother as she kissed him good night. 

As she went down-stairs to rejoin her hus- 
band, she found herself rejoicing at her small 


154 


“ LIMPY ” 


son’s announcement. The daughter of a 
clergyman, and of a devout temperament, one 
of her fondest hopes was that one of her sons 
might be a minister. Neither Tom nor Rich- 
ard had thus far shown any inclinations in that 
direction, or had otherwise given evidence of 
any signs of early piety. That Eddie at ten 
should announce his vocation as a missionary 
filled her with delight. 

“ What do you think Eddie told me to- 
night?” she said to Mr. Randall. “He an- 
nounced that when he grew up, he was going to 
be a missionary to Japan.” 

“ Boys get funny notions,” said Mr. Randall 
carelessly. “ He’ll get over it quickly 
enough.” 

“ I don’t think he will. He is very serious 
about it.” 

“ Oh, pooh,” laughed his father, “ at his age, 
my highest ambition was to be a telegraph line- 
man.” 

“ This seems to be his heart’s desire,” his 
mother persisted. “ I’m sure he means it.” 

The next day, Sunday, Eddie arose with a 
fixed determination to begin a new life. 
Henceforth he was going to be good, to keep on 
getting better and better, until perhaps by and 


A CHANGED AMBITION 155 


by he would be as good as the minister, good 
enough to be a missionary. 

After breakfast he seated himself in the din- 
ing-room and began conscientiously to study 
his Sunday-school lesson. He tried his best 
to keep his thoughts on the leaflet before him, 
but quickly found that being persistently good 
was no easy task. Out on the porch, through 
the open window, he could hear Tom and Rich- 
ard talking. 

“ Oh, Tom, lookee what I got.” 

“ Let’s see.” 

“ Watch out, or he’ll get away.” 

“ Gee, isn’t he a dandy? Where’d you get 
him?” 

Though Eddie kept repeating the text over 
and over again, he could not help hearing them. 
What was it Richard had found, he wondered. 
It must be a butterfly, or a bug, or maybe an 
animal of some sort. Maybe it was a turtle. 
Curiosity almost overcame him. 

“ Come on, Dick, let’s take him out to the 
barn.” 

“ We ought to put him in water, oughtn’t 
we?” 

It must be a turtle, Eddie decided. He 
wondered how big it was. He debated with 


156 


“ LIMP Y ” 


himself whether it would be very wrong for 
him to take a peek at it. No, he decided, he 
was going to be good. He was going to keep 
on studying his Sunday-school lesson. He had 
to learn how to be good enough to be a mission- 
ary — 

“ Tell you what, we’ll put him in a barrel 
out in the barn so he can’t get away, and after 
Sunday-school we’ll fix him up.” 

“ All right, come on.” 

It was harder and harder for Eddie to keep 
his mind fixed on his text. He wanted so 
much to run out to the barn before he started 
for Sunday-school and see what they had there, 
but somehow he managed to keep from doing 
it. Yet all through the morning exercises his 
mind wandered. When the teacher called on 
him to recite his text, he could not for the life 
of him remember the last half of it. All the 
time he kept thinking that whatever it was in 
the barrel might get away before he had a 
chance to see it. In the church service that 
followed, he found it difficult to be attentive. 
Before setting out that morning he had made 
up his mind to listen to everything the minister 
said and to watch everything he did. A mis- 
sionary was a minister. If he was going to go 


A CHANGED AMBITION 157 


to J apan, he would first have to learn to be a 
minister. But somehow, between the turtle 
and Japan, he forgot all about listening to the 
minister. 

On the way home he tried to remember what 
the sermon had been about. He was horrified 
at himself when he found that he could not re- 
call even the text. He felt utterly dismayed. 
He doubted whether he could ever learn to like 
Sunday-school and church enough, whether he 
could ever be good enough. He decided to ask 
old Jonas that afternoon what he thought 
about it. 

Meanwhile, Mrs. Randall, walking home 
from church with two of her neighbors, was 
proudly telling them of Eddie’s new ambi- 
tion. 

“ He’s very much in earnest about it,” she 
explained. “ His father doesn’t take him seri- 
ously, but he never understood Eddie. I am 
confident he means it, and I’m so delighted! ” 

“ Isn’t he a dear? ” said one of the women. 
“ He’s always such a good, obedient boy I’m 
sure he’ll grow into a good man.” 

“ Yes,” said Mrs. Randall, “ Eddie never has 
caused me a minute’s worry. He always does 
just what I tell him and always keeps any 


158 “LIMPY” 

promises he makes. He’s so different from 
the other boys.” 

Dinner that afternoon was not over until 
three o’clock, and immediately afterward 
Eddie set out to visit old Jonas. Though 
the veteran’s shop was closed Sundays, Eddie 
knew from past experience that he would be 
sure to find him propped up on the sidewalk in 
front of it, the same as on week-days. 

“ Don’t be gone more than an hour, Eddie 
dear,” his mother said as he started out. 

“ No’m, I won’t,” he answered obediently. 

Ordinarily Mrs. Randall did not approve of 
her boys running about the town Sunday after- 
noons, but she made an exception in Eddie’s 
case, for she felt that he was always to be 
trusted. She knew of his friendship for the 
old cripple and rather approved of it, for the 
daily visits Eddie made gave him something to 
do. Tom and Richard, on the contrary, al- 
ways had orders on Sunday afternoon to stay 
in their own yard. 

Soon, Eddie, squatted down on an old box 
where he could look up into Jonas’s face, 
was setting forth his troubles in trying to be 
good. 

“ Do you think I could ever get to be good 


A CHANGED AMBITION 159 

enough to be a missionary? 55 he inquired anx- 
iously. 

“ Sure you could, 5 ’ declared old Jonas. 

“ I’m afraid not, 55 said Eddie dubiously. 
“ This is the very first day I’ve tried it, and it is 
going to be pretty hard work. 55 

“ Yes, 55 Jonas admitted, “ it’s likely to be. 55 

“ You see, Tom and Richard had something 
out on the porch while I was studying my text 
— I think it was a turtle — and I wanted to go 
out to see what it was — 55 

“ Didn’t ye go? 55 

“No, but I wanted to, and mother says 
when you want to do something you oughtn’t 
to do, it’s wrong, almost as wrong as if you 
did it. 55 

“ How’d you know you’d oughtn’t to look 
at the turtle? 55 

“ Why,” stammered Eddie, “ I’m going to 
be a missionary, and that means being good all 
the time and studying texts and reading the 
Bible and — 55 

“ I ain’t so sure about that,” interrupted 
Jonas. “ There’s lots of people as is pretty 
good that don’t spend much time reading the 
Bible. ’Tisn’t what you read, it’s what you 
do and think that makes you good.” 


160 


“ LIMP Y ” 


“ Wouldn’t it have been wrong for me to 
have gone out to see the turtle when I was 
studying my text? ” 

“ ’Course it wouldn’t. It’s only natural for 
a boy to want to see a turtle — Sunday or any 
other day.” 

“ But oughtn’t I to study texts and to read 
the Bible? ” 

“ Sure you ought, but there’s time enough 
for that later. It’s a boy’s business to run and 
jump and play and get all the exercise he can 
so that he’ll grow up into a big, healthy man. 
It’s a boy’s business, too, to find out every- 
thing he can about everything, including 
turtles. Them that reads the most ain’t 
always the best and the wisest. The same One 
that made the Bible made everything else in 
the world, and it’s just as much of a duty to 
study one as ’tother.” 

“ I never thought about it like that,” said 
Eddie soberly. “ I supposed we learned 
everything out of books.” 

“ Play’s a good thing for boys, yes, and for 
men, too,” continued Jonas. “ It’s just as 
natural for a boy to want to play on Sunday as 
on other days.” 

“ But,” exclaimed Eddie, in horrified tones, 


A CHANGED AMBITION 161 


“ you don’t think it’s right to play on Sundays, 
to play games and things? ” 

“ Yes and no,” said Jonas. “ It’s perfectly 
natural for a boy to want to play seven days a 
week, but the rules of most parents is he 
mustn’t play Sundays. It’s a good thing for 
a boy to learn to obey rules, for all his life long 
he’s got to be keeping rules. The sooner he 
learns it the better he’ll get along.” 

“ Grownup people,” protested Eddie, “ don’t 
have to obey any rules. They can do just as 
they please.” 

“ No indeed, they can’t. Everybody has 
got to obey rules of some sort. There’s the 
rules of the city and state. Grownup people 
have to obey them or go to jail. They have 
to do certain things and pay taxes and things 
like that. Then there’s the rules of health; 
everybody’s got to obey them, or they get sick 
and die. There’s the rules of business ; a man’s 
got to obey them, or else he fails, or can’t get 
any one to give him any credit. There’s the 
rules of society; everybody’s got to keep them, 
or nobody’ll associate with him. Everybody 
on earth’s got to keep some sort of rules as long 
as he lives.” 

“ I s’pose it’s so,” sighed Eddie, “ but I 


162 


“ LIMPY ” 


always thought that when I grew up I could 
do just as I pleased.” 

For a moment there was silence between 
them, each thinking his own thoughts, old 
Jonas’s reverting to the many things he had 
wanted to do, but which rules had interfered 
with, while Eddie tried to digest this new 
theory of life. It was Eddie who spoke first. 

“ Mr. Jonas,” he asked, “ do you s’pose I’ll 
ever be able to earn money — a lot of money? ” 

“ You never can tell till you try. When I 
was left with one leg — ” 

“With a leg and a half,” interrupted Ed- 
die. 

“ — I didn’t see how I was going to earn 
much money, but I got this little place here, 
and I’ve done pretty well and have some put 
aside, too. But what do you want to earn 
money for? ” 

“ There’s a doctor in New York I’ve heard 
dad and mother talking about. Maybe he 
could cure me so I wouldn’t be lame, but it 
would cost a lot, and dad can’t afford it yet. 
Maybe, if I could earn enough money, I 
wouldn’t have to be lame any more.” 

In the boy’s eager, upturned face old Jonas 
with sympathizing eyes read something of the 


A CHANGED AMBITION 163 


agonized longing — the longing to be like other 
boys. Well he knew, too, the suffering of go- 
ing through life physically handicapped, for- 
ever hampered and hindered from doing most 
of the things he wanted to do. Even against 
his better judgment he answered quickly: 
“ ’Course you can earn money — a lot of 
money. Any boy can. All you have to do is 
to keep your eyes open and jump at the first 
chance that comes along.” 

Eddie’s eyes sparkled with delight at these 
words of encouragement. A dozen more ques- 
tions trembled on his lips, but just then two 
other cronies of Jonas — two old soldiers — 
came along, to have a Sunday afternoon chat 
with the veteran, and all opportunity for fur- 
ther confidence was cut off. 

Eddie listened for a while to their conver- 
sation, and then set out for home, remark- 
ing politely, “ I guess I’d better be going 
now.” 

As he came to the first cross street, a narrow 
lane that led down the hill to the grove by the 
railroad tracks, the sound of a band caught his 
ear. He stopped to look and listen. Down in 
the grove all sorts of exciting and interesting 
things seemed to be going on. He could see 


164 


“ LIMPY ” 


the canvas tops of tents, could hear the band 
and, mingling with it, the harsher music of a 
merry-go-round. 

It came to him that he had promised to be 
home in an hour, but he recalled that his visit 
had been cut short and decided that he would 
have a few minutes still, time enough to go 
down to the end of the street and see what was 
going on. 

As he hobbled down the hill, a great streamer 
above the entrance to the grove came into view. 
It announced that the annual picnic of the 
United Knights of Work was going on there. 
Around the entrance all sorts of interesting- 
looking booths had been erected. Through the 
fence he caught a glimpse of a platform on 
which he could see couples dancing. 

All thoughts of home vanished. Forgotten 
was his promise to his mother. He felt that he 
just must get closer to see and hear what was 
going on. He wanted to find out who the 
United Knights of Work were. He hobbled 
faster and faster toward the grove, and before 
he fully realized it found himself inside the 
entrance, 

“ Hey, kid, come here! ” 

He paused and looked around. The man 


A CHANGED AMBITION 165 


who had hailed him was leaning out of a little 
stand in which were a lot of holes filled with 
canes of many designs. The man, both his 
hands full of small wooden rings, was beckon- 
ing to him. Eddie hobbled closer to see what 
was wanted. 

“ Say, kid,” said the man in a hoarse voice, 
“ do you want to earn a quarter? ” 

To earn a quarter ! 

What was it old Jonas had said — “ all that 
a boy has to do is to grab the first chance that 
comes along”? Forgotten instantly was the 
fact that it was Sunday, forgotten his promise 
to be home within an hour, forgotten everything 
except that here was a chance to prove that de- 
spite his lameness he could earn money, that he 
could earn a quarter — a whole quarter. 

“ Sure,” he said with earnestness. 

“ Come on, then,” said the man. “ Get in 
here and run this stand while I go get some- 
thing to eat. The rings is three for a, nickel. 
Any fellow that gets one over a cane gets the 
cane. All you got to do is to keep yelling 
good and loud to keep the crowd coming and to 
gather up the rings and take in the money. 
My voice is wore out.” 


166 


“ LIMP Y ” 


It was not until supper-time that any of the 
family noted Eddie’s absence. 

“Where’s Eddie?” asked Mrs. Randall as 
Tom and Richard came in from the barn where 
they had had a busy afternoon playing with the 
turtle. They had no worries about being good. 
They weren’t going to be ministers or mission- 
aries. 

“ Don’t know,” said Tom carelessly. 
“ Haven’t seen him all afternoon.” 

“Have you seen Eddie?” Mrs. Randall 
asked her husband anxiously as he joined them 
a moment later. 

He had no idea where Eddie might be. 
Mrs. Randall tried in vain to think where he 
might have gone. She recalled that she had 
not seen him since early in the afternoon when 
he set out to call on old Jonas. He must have 
come home from there long ago. He was to 
stay only an hour, and he always kept his prom- 
ises. Perhaps he had gone up to his room or 
to the attic and had fallen asleep. She went 
to the foot of the stairs and called and called 
again. Getting no response, she made a hasty 
search of the house. 

“Where do you suppose Eddie can be?” 
she asked her husband with blanching face, 


A CHANGED AMBITION 167 


fearful lest some accident might have befallen 
her best loved. 

“ Probably he’s over next door playing with 
Floribel Finch,” suggested Mr. Randall. 
“ Tom, you run over and see.” 

As Tom returned with the news that no one 
there had seen Eddie, Mr. Randall began to 
catch a little of his wife’s anxiety. Each of the 
boys was dispatched to the homes of various 
friends in the neighborhood, but each returned 
soon with no news of the missing one. 

“ Where’d you see him last?” asked Mr. 
Randall. 

“ About three he went off to see that old 
man down the street of wdiom he is so fond,” 
Mrs. Randall answered. “ He promised to be 
back by four. He has never been late before. 
What can have happened to him? ” 

“ Oh, nothing,” said Mr. Randall. “ If that 
is where he is, he has just forgotten all about 
the time. Time means nothing to a boy. 
Come on, we’ll eat our supper. He’ll be home 
before we’re through. An appetite will al- 
ways bring a youngster home.” 

It was an uneasy meal to which they sat 
down. Despite her husband’s reassuring 
words, Mrs. Randall could not eat. A dozen 


168 


“ LIMPY ” 


theories formed themselves in her mind as to 
what might have happened to her little crippled 
son: maybe he had fallen and hurt himself; 
perhaps he had been run over; perhaps his 
brace had slipped, and he was unable to walk. 
She pictured him lying hurt, perhaps dying, in 
some neglected neighborhood. She must do 
something. What was there to do? How 
could they find him? 

As the meal ended without a glimpse of 
Eddie, her husband, too, grew more and more 
worried. 

“ I’ll tell you what,” he suggested. “ You 
and I’ll walk down to the old fellow’s place and 
get Eddie and bring him home. Mind, you 
two boys stay in the yard while we are gone,” 
he added as a parting injunction to Tom and 
Richard. 

“ Do you know the old fellow’s name? ” Mr. 
Randall asked his wife as they hurried down the 
street. 

“ It’s Jonas something, and he’s one-legged,” 
Mrs. Randall answered, “ but I’ve never seen 
him.” 

With this description Mr. Randall had no 
difficulty in locating the tobacco-shop, and there 
in front of it old Jonas was still sitting. 


A CHANGED AMBITION 169 


“ Have you seen our Eddie?” the mother 
anxiously asked as they approached. 

“ Eddie Randall, you mean? Why, yes, 
he was here this afternoon.” 

“ What time did he leave? ” 

“ Where did he go? ” 

Both parents spoke at once. 

“ Let’s see,” said the old man slowly, “ he 
came about three and he must have stayed till 
half-past or maybe a quarter of four.” 

“ Which way did he go? ” 

“Why,” said Jonas in surprise, “he went 
home, of course. He always does. What’s 
happened? ” 

“ It’s nearly eight now, and he isn’t home 
yet,” Mrs. Randall answered. “ He didn’t say 
anything about going anywhere else, did he? ” 

“ Yes and no. He was talking some of go- 
ing to Japan, but I don’t believe he intended 
starting for there this afternoon.” 

With growing anxiety the Randalls turned 
their steps toward home. 

“ Do you know,” said Mrs. Randall with sud- 
den conviction, “ I believe Eddie must have run 
away. I think he has set out for J apan. Ever 
since yesterday he has been thinking of nothing 
except going there as a missionary.” 


170 


“ LIMPY ” 


“ Oh, pooh! ” replied her husband. “ He’s 
forgotten all about that by now. He just gets 
those notions like all boys.” 

“ Eddie isn’t like other boys,” protested his 
mother. “ He’s so good. His whole mind 
and heart have been set on being a missionary. 
He’s been reading his Bible and studying his 
Sunday-school lesson — ” 

“ Let’s turn down here,” said Mr. Randall 
irrelevantly. His ear had caught the sound of 
a band, and down in the grove he, too, could see 
the tents. 

“ There’s no use in our looking for Eddie in 
a place like this,” protested Mrs. Randall as 
they entered the picnic grounds. “ It was 
Eddie’s heart’s desire to grow up to be a good 
man, to be a missionary — Well! did you 
ever? ” 

There, right in front of her, in plain view un- 
der the light of a flaring torch, was her missing 
son, the would-be missionary, both hands full 
of wooden rings. 

“ Come on here! ” he was shouting at the top 
of his shrill little voice. “ Get your canes ! 
Take a chance on the canes ! Three throws for 
a nickel ! Get your canes ! ” 

Mr. Randall’s relief at finding Eddie found 


A CHANGED AMBITION 171 

expression in a hearty laugh, and as he stood 
there gleefully watching his small son’s efforts, 
he was not without some feeling of pride. It 
was his secret fear that his wife was bringing up 
their boys to be mollycoddles. 

The feeling of Eddie’s mother, however, was 
not delight. Straight for the stand she sped, 
and, grasping her son’s arm, she gave him an 
indignant shake, spilling rings all over the 
place. 

“ Eddie Randall, you naughty boy,” she al- 
most screamed at him. “ What are you doing 
here ? On Sunday, too ! Aren’t you ashamed 
of yourself, disgracing us like this? ” 

“ Oh, mother,” cried Eddie jubilantly, her 
reproaches rolling off like rain-drops, “ I 
earned a quarter running the stand while the 
man went to supper, and I did so well and 
made so much money for him he said he’d give 
me another quarter if I stayed till eight 
o’clock.” 

“ Eddie Randall,” commanded his mother, 
still holding his arm, “ you drop those dirty 
rings and come right home.” 

Resolutely he shook off her hand. 

“ I can’t leave till the man comes back,” he 
announced, “ and mother, he says if I’ll go with 


172 


“ LIMPY ” 


him every day to fairs and picnics, lie’ll give 
me fifty cents a day. I can go, can’t I, 
mother?” And then, for the first time not- 
ing his father’s presence and reading in his face 
more sympathy and understanding, “ I can, 
can’t I, Dad? ” 

“ But, Eddie,” laughed his father, “ I 
thought you wanted to be a missionary.” 

All at once the memory of his good resolves 
swept over Eddie — his firm intention of being 
good all the time, of reading the Bible lots and 
lots, of becoming as good as the minister — and 
here he was, his promise to be home broken, 
selling chances on canes at a Sunday picnic. 
He knew he ought to feel ashamed of himself. 
He realized that his present occupation fell far 
short in fitting him for a missionary career. 
He knew he ought to say he was sorry, but he 
wasn’t sorry a bit. His cheeks flushed. His 
voice faltered. 

“ Aw, that was yesterday,” he said. 


CHAPTER EIGHT 


COUSIN JIM 

4 4 R° YS ’” Sa ^ ^ rs# R an dall, as the family 

13 gathered at the supper table a few 
nights later, “ I have a surprise for you. See 
if you can guess what it is ! ” 

“ It’s a picnic,” said Tom. 

“ It’s a peach shortcake,” said Richard, al- 
ways thinking of good things to eat. 

“ Presents,” said Eddie, who liked presents. 

“ You’re all wrong,” their mother an- 
nounced. “ Your Cousin Jim is coming to 
visit us.” 

If she had anticipated that her announce- 
ment would be received with enthusiastic ac- 
claim, she was doomed to disappointment. In- 
stead she became at once the center of a volley 
of questions. 

“ When’s he coming? ” demanded Richard. 

“ How old is he? ” Tom wanted to know. 

“ Where’ll he sleep? ” asked Eddie. 

“ How long’s he going to stay? ” 

“ Is he bigger’n me? ” 


174 


“ LIMPY ” 


“ Is Aunt Margaret coming with him? ” 

“ How’d you know he was coming? ” 

“Wait, boys,” she directed. “I can’t an- 
swer all your questions at once. Wait and I 
will tell you everything. He is coming next 
Thursday to stay for two weeks. Your Uncle 
Jim is going through to Chicago, and will bring 
Jim with him. He will stop off for a day on 
his way back, and take your cousin home, so 
Aunt Margaret’s letter says.” 

“ How old is he? ” persisted Tom. 

He was fourteen, the eldest. Eddie, the 
lame duck of the Randall trio, was ten. Rich- 
ard came half-way between them. 

“ Let me see,” said their mother. “ Jim was 
born just a month after Richard. That makes 
him not quite twelve.” 

“ Oh,” said Tom, in a disappointed tone, 
“ he’s a little fellow.” 

“ Sure,” said Richard, “ he’s a little fellow. 
He’s younger’n me.” 

“ What’s he like? ” asked Eddie, rejoicing at 
the thought that he was to have a new play- 
mate. 

“ I haven’t seen Jim since he was two years 
old,” their mother explained. “ He was a 
beautiful baby, so sturdy and so strong. It 


COUSIN JIM 


175 


was just after Eddie was born that Aunt Mar- 
garet came to visit us, and brought him with 
her.” 

“ He hasn’t any brothers or sisters, has he? ” 
questioned Eddie. 

“ No, he’s an only child; so you boys must all 
be nice to him and show him how lovely it is to 
have brothers.” 

“ He’ll have to sleep with Eddie,” Tom an- 
nounced. “ There ain’t any room for him m 
with Dick and me.” 

“ There isn’t any room,” his mother cor- 
rected. 

“ That’ll be fine,” announced Eddie, to his 
mother’s satisfaction. 

Mrs. Randall had been wondering what they 
would do about sleeping arrangements. They 
had no spare room. She had been wondering 
whether her little lame son would welcome a 
roommate. He was such a quiet reserved chap, 
so different from the other boys. The iron 
brace he had to wear constantly on one leg 
handicapped him so much in the things that 
other boys liked to do that he had invented all 
sorts of amusements and recreations of his own. 
She had not felt at all certain that he would 
like having a bed companion. But his ready 


176 


LIMPY ” 


acquiescence in, his older brother’s suggestion 
solved the problem. 

“You boys must always remember that he is 
company, and must let him play with your 
things, and introduce him to all your play- 
mates,” Mrs. Randall continued. 

“ I can’t be bothered trailing round with a 
kid like that,” Tom announced with an almost 
defiant air. 

“ I’ll bet I can lick him,” announced Rich- 
ard. 

“Why, Richard!” his mother exclaimed, 
“ you mustn’t say things like that.” 

Mr. Randall laughed. “ Better size him up 
first, Dick,” he suggested. About a year be- 
fore he had spent a day in Cousin’s Jim’s home, 
and he had a vague recollection that his nephew 
was quite a big boy for his age, bigger even 
than Tom, despite being two years his junior. 

“ I do hope our boys will not quarrel with 
Jim,” said Mrs. Randall despondently, as she 
and her husband still sat at table after their 
sons had been excused. “ I know Margaret 
must have brought her boy up nicely.” 

“ I guess Jim can take care of himself,” said 
Mr. Randall indifferently. “ I know our boys 
can — at least Tom and Richard can.” 


COUSIN JIM 


177 


“ It is them I am worrying about,” his wife 
answered. “ Eddie is such a dear good little 
fellow, I can trust him. I know that he and 
Jim will get along well together. Eddie is 
such an obedient boy, I always feel I need not 
worry about him.” 

“ He did run away once,” suggested her hus- 
band, chuckling. 

Somehow Mrs. Randall never could quite 
grasp her husband’s view-point where the boys 
were concerned ; at times it seemed to her that 
he fairly gloried in their misdeeds. 

“ Eddie didn’t mean to run away that time,” 
she retorted, ever rising quickly to the defense 
of her youngest. “ His intention was the best. 
He only wanted to earn some money.” 

“ Boys’ intentions always are all right,” her 
husband persisted. “ It’s their lack of judg- 
ment that gets them into trouble.” 

“ Well, Eddie, I know, will get along well 
with his cousin.” 

“ We’ll see,” said her husband. “ You never 
can tell about boys.” 

“ But I don’t know about Tom and Rich- 
ard,” Mrs. Randall persisted. “ They are so 
rough and rude at times. I am afraid they will 
spoil Margaret’s boy. She always had such 


178 


“ LIMPY ” 


high ideals of motherhood, and with only one 
child to look after, she has had lots of time to 
devote to him. I suppose her son will be a per- 
fect little gentleman. Our two older boys are 
so impolite. They fight and use slang. Yes, 
and they both tell fibs, too. I don’t think they 
really mean to lie, but they are not always 
truthful. I am so discouraged about them.” 

“ All boys do that sort of thing. It’s boy 
nature,” said Mr. Randall carelessly. 

“I’m sure Margaret’s boy will not be like 
that,” insisted his wife. “ My sister’s son, I 
know, will have had wise and careful bringing 
up. Margaret never was as easy-going as I 
am.” 

“ The kind of a mother my boys have suits 
me exactly,” said Mr. Randall, giving her a 
little peck on the cheek, as he got up from the 
table. “ These strict women with ideals and 
theories seldom make good mothers. And 
don’t go worrying your head about Jim’s good 
manners. No boy of twelve ever has any.” 

Three days later Cousin Jim arrived, a great 
gangling hulk of a boy, all hands and feet, with 
a freckled face, mischievous eyes, and a shock 
of red hair that simply would not stay brushed. 
Tom, straightening himself up to the full height 


COUSIN JIM 


179 


of his fourteen years, noted with dismay and a 
sudden feeling of helpless wrath that his cousin 
was fully two inches taller than he. Richard, 
the pugnacious, secretly studied Jim’s muscular 
development and decided to await further 
eventualities before he tried to “ lick ” him. 
Only Eddie was politely and effusively cordial. 

During the ten minutes after Jim’s arrival, 
while Mr. and Mrs. Randall were present to 
greet their nephew, the attitude of the boys to- 
ward one another, as is generally the case of all 
boys with strangers, was one of frigid indif- 
ference. After Jim’s bag had been taken up- 
stairs to Eddie’s room, after inquiries about 
Jim’s father and mother and his progress in 
school had been answered more or less satisfac- 
torily, Mrs. Randall bade the four of them run 
out into the yard, and play. As soon as they 
were safely out of the door, Tom hastened 
away. 

“ Got to go over and see Bob Tucker,” was 
the only explanation he vouchsafed. 

“ I’m going with you,” said Richard, hasten- 
ing to follow. 

Neither of them showed the slightest ex- 
pectation or wish to have Cousin Jim accom- 
pany them. Eddie stood stock-still, amazed at 


180 


“ LIMP Y ” 


and ashamed of his brothers’ lack of courtesy 
toward their guest. 

Jim didn’t seem to mind it in the least. He 
looked about the yard until he had found a 
stone, and sent it hurtling after them. It just 
missed Richard’s leg, and Eddie breathed a 
sigh of relief. Jim gave a grunt of disappoint- 
ment, and, looking about for another missile 
but failing to find one, turned to inspect Eddie. 

“ Come on, old one-leg,” he said, “ an’ we’ll 
have some fun.” 

Any reference to his deformity, especially 
from a stranger, always upset Eddie. At his 
cousin’s brutal remark about his iron-braced leg 
he wanted to turn and run into the house, but 
duty toward a guest forbade, especially after 
his brothers’ conduct. 

“ I’m not a one-leg,” he protested bravely, 
mustering up courage enough for a forced 
smile, and recalling the joke that he and old 
Jonas, the one-legged veteran, had between 
them, he added, “ I’m a leg and a half, you — 
you — you redhead.” 

“ All right, leg and a half,” laughed Jim, to 
Eddie’s surprise not in the least perturbed by 
the reference to his hair. “ Come on, let’s go 
out to the barn and have some fun.” 


COUSIN JIM 


181 


“ Sure/’ said Eddie, recovering his compos- 
ure, and deciding that Cousin Jim wasn’t such 
a bad fellow after all. 

No sooner had the barn-door swung to 
behind them than Jim brought forth from 
his pocket a package of cigarettes and 
some matches. Ceremoniously lighting one, 
he offered another to the astounded 
Eddie, who hardly knew what to make 
of the performance. Why, even Tom, who 
was fourteen, never had dared to try to smoke 
yet. 

“ Let them fellers go their own way,” an- 
nounced Jim, “ you and me’ll be pals and have' 
a lot of fun. Tell you what, old one-leg, we’ll 
organize a pirate band and have a secret oath, 
just us two.” 

“ Gee, that’ll be great,” cried Eddie with 
kindling eyes. Here was a playmate after his 
own heart. Tom and Richard lacked imagina- 
tion and never would play the pretend games 
he enjoyed so much. 

“ I’ll be Captain Kidd,” continued Jim, 
“ and you be Peg-leg, the sailor. Are you 
game? ” 

“ Sure I’m game,” asserted Eddie. Of 
course he was. Hadn’t Brother Tom declared 


182 “ LIMP Y ” 

more than once that Eddie was a “ game little 
kid”? 

“ Then stand up,” commanded Captain 
Kidd, “ and say the pirates’ oath.” 

Slowly he repeated the words, Eddie 
solemnly saying them after him, “ Sticks and 
stones, blood and bones, I swear to keep the 
secrets of the band, and if I don’t, I hope to die 
and to be drawn and quartered and hung at the 
yard-arm.” 

“ Now,” announced Captain Kidd, “ we’re 
blood-brothers. We dassent ever tell on each 
other, and we share the loot. See what I got.” 

From his pocket he produced a new ten-dol- 
lar bill. 

“ Where’d you get all that money? ” cried 
Eddie in amazement. 

“ Copped it out of Dad’s pocket last night in 
the sleeping-car,” boasted Jim. 

“ But’s that’s stealing,” protested the horri- 
fied Eddie. 

“ Sure it is,” assented Jim. “ That’s what 
pirates do. They steal and kill and rob and 
burn.” 

“ I don’t believe I want to be a pirate, if 
you’ll excuse me,” said Eddie timorously, after 
a moment’s thought. 


COUSIN JIM 


183 


“ It’s too late now, you’ve got to be,” an- 
nounced the pirate captain. “ You’ve taken 
the oath. You can’t go back on that, you’d 
be stricken dead if you did. You don’t want 
to die, do you? ” 

“ No,” said Eddie. He was sadly per- 
plexed. He wished he could ask old Jonas 
what to do. Jonas said a man always had to 
keep his word. Surely it was more important 
to keep an oath. He had taken his oath to be 
a pirate. He couldn’t see any way out of it. 

“ All right,” he said, “ I’ll keep my oath. 
I’ll be a pirate.” 

“ Hurrah for Peg-leg,” shouted Captain 
Kidd. “ Come on, then, we’ll go in search of 
loot.” 

Arming himself with a barrel stave, and care- 
lessly tossing his cigarette, which had fortu- 
nately gone out, into a pile of hay, he led the 
way outdoors. Out behind the barn they en- 
countered four sleek white ducks placidly wad- 
dling along in search of worms. 

“ Ahoy, there, Peg-leg,” cried the captain 
gleefully, “ stand by to capture the enemy.” 

“ They’re not our ducks,” protested Eddie. 
“ They belong to the Widow Malone who lives 
over there.” 


184 


“ LIMPY ” 


“ We’ll capture ’em anyway,” directed Cap- 
tain Kidd. 

Whatever scruples Eddie may have felt, he 
soon forgot them in the fascinating sport of 
driving the unwilling ducks into the barn, 
where Jim quickly closed the door behind them 
to prevent their escape. 

“ Now,” he said gleefully, “ if we only had a 
fire, we’d roast them and have a pirate feast.” 

“ Dad wouldn’t let us ever have a fire in the 
barn,” explained Eddie. “ It’s too danger- 
ous. Pie doesn’t even like us to build a fire 
anywhere in the yard unless he’s around.” 

Jim, however, hardly heard him. Plis fer- 
tile brain was already busy with another pro- 
ject. He had spied an ax lying beside the 
kindling block. 

“ Tell you what we’ll do,” he announced. 
“ We’ll hold a court and try ’em for treason, 
and if we find they’re guilty, we’ll behead 
them.” 

“ Fine,” said Eddie. He hadn’t seen the ax. 
He thought it was to be only a pretend execu- 
tion. Being a pirate was lots of fun. 

Cousin Jim, however, was thorough-going in 
his methods. Before the horrified Eddie had 
quite realized what was happening the headless 


COUSIN JIM 


185 


body of one of the ducks was tumbling gro- 
tesquely about the barn-floor. 

“ Oh, stop,” cried Eddie. “ You’ve killed 
it.” 

“ Sure,” grinned Jim cheerfully, “ that’s 
what pirates always do to their captives.” 

“ Dad’ll be awful angry,” warned Eddie. 

“ Who’ll tell him?” demanded the execu- 
tioner unperturbed. “ You dassent. You 
dassent break your pirates’ oath.” Forthwith 
he began chasing another of the ducks. 

“I’m going to tell,” jeered a triumphant 
voice from the barn-door. It was Richard, re- 
turned to see what was going on and snooping 
at his cousin’s pastime. “ I’m going to tell 
dad, and you’ll get an awful whaling.” 

“ Tattle-tale, tattle-tale,” jeered Jim de- 
risively. 

“ That’s all right,” scoffed Richard. “ Just 
wait till I tell on you, and see what you get — 
and Eddie, too. That was one of the Widow 
Malone’s ducks.” 

“ You tell on me,” threatened Jim, swagger- 
ing toward the door, “ and I’ll punch your face 
off.” 

“ Pooh,” said Richard defiantly, feeling per- 
haps a little overconfident from the fact that he 


186 


“ LIMPY ” 


was in no way involved in the duck killing. 
“ Who’s afraid of you? ” 

“ You are,” announced Jim. “I’ll dare and 
double-dare you to hit me. Just you try it 
once.” 

As his cousin advanced, Richard was seized 
with sudden misgivings about his ability to 
thrash Jim. Jim was a good deal bigger than 
he was. 

“ I don’t fight with fellers younger’n me,” 
he announced lamely. 

“ Fraid-cat and tattle-tale,” chanted Jim 
mockingly. “ Fraid-cat and tattle-tale.” 

The double taunt was too much for boy blood 
to endure. With head down and fists clenched 
Richard charged at him. Jim squared off in 
an attitude of self-defense. Unscientific 
though the ensuing battle was on either side, 
jealousy of the other’s prowess lent vigor to 
the blows. Back and forth over the barn-floor 
they staggered and tussled, striking wildly at 
each other, often clinching in desperate efforts 
to throw each other to the floor. 

Eddie stood rooted to one spot watching the 
combat with impartial, but excited gaze. He 
did not want to see his brother get the worst of 
it, but, on the other hand, he felt that as a mem- 


COUSIN JIM 


187 


ber of the pirate band he would like to see his 
captain triumph. As the battle raged, he 
found himself vaguely wishing that he, too, 
could fight. It must be lots of fun. Yet 
somewhere in the background of his brain was a 
vague sense of guilt. What was dad going to 
say about the duck? What would mother 
think about the fighting? 

By this time both boys’ noses were bleeding. 
Jim’s fist caught Richard in the eye with a 
blinding smack. They clinched and rolled to 
the floor. At first Richard was uppermost, 
but soon Jim’s superior size and weight pre- 
vailed. Both were so out of breath that they 
could hardly speak. 

“ Holler ’nuff, and I’ll let you up,” wheezed 
the conqueror. 

Richard’s answer was a last desperate strug- 
gle to roll out from under and regain his posi- 
tion of advantage. For a moment they 
wrestled desperately. At last Jim got his fin- 
gers about his opponent’s throat. 

“ Say ’nuff,” he commanded again. 

“ ’Nuff,” gurgled Richard. 

Slowly they drew apart and scrambled to 
their feet, eying each other with new sensations 
of friendship and respect. 


188 


LIMPY 


“ Oh, Dick,” shrilled Eddie in alarm, “ your 
eye’s getting all black.” 

“ That’s nothing,” boasted Dick, cautiously 
feeling the injured eye with his grimy fingers. 
“ I’ve often had a black eye. It doesn’t hurt.” 
If only he could keep mother from noticing it, 
he thought, he would have a lot of fun showing 
it to the fellows tomorrow. 

It was just at this juncture that Tom arrived. 
He viewed the scene of combat with a sinking 
heart. It pained him to think that there had 
been “ a dandy scrap,” and he had not been 
there to see it. 

“ Can’t I leave you kids alone five minutes 
without your getting into a fight? ” he de- 
manded loftily. 

“ You shut up, or I’ll fight you too,” blus- 
tered Jim, perhaps with not quite as much as- 
surance as when he had defied Richard. He 
was still badly winded, and, besides, Tom was 
bigger than Richard. 

“ I don’t fight with children,” said Tom with 
all the bravado of fourteen. 

“ You’re afraid. You dassent,” taunted 
Jim. 

“ I dare anything you dare,” retorted Tom 
angrily. 


COUSIN JIM 


189 


The resourceful Cousin Jim cast about for 
something to test his oldest cousin’s prowess. 

I’ll dare you to climb to the top of that lad- 
der there and jump down.” 

“ Pooh, that’s nothing,” said Tom. 

“ Dare, dare, double-dare you,” repeated 
Jim. 

“ Come on, then,” retorted Tom, scram- 
bling up the ladder that led to the barn-loft, 
fully twelve feet higher than the barn-door. 
Jim quickly followed him up the ladder; Rich- 
ard, forgetful of his hurts, drew off to one side 
with Eddie to watch the jumps. At the top of 
the ladder another controversy took place. 
Looking down from where they were, the dis- 
tance seemed far greater than it had from the 
floor. Both the boys, to tell the truth, were a 
little afraid of the jump. “ Go on and jump,” 
ordered Tom. 

“ Naw,” objected Jim, “ you go first. It’s 
your barn.” 

“ You dared me.” 

“ You’re afraid.” 

“ I ain’t either, you scare-cat.” 

“ I’ll show you if I am.” 

“ An’ I’ll show you. Go on and jump.” 

“ All right, here goes,” said Jim. 


190 


“ LIMP Y ” 


As he spoke he flung himself down. He 
lighted safely on his feet, but toppled over, 
coming to rest uninjured on a pile of hay. The 
shock of his leap shook him up, but he managed 
to ejaculate. 

“ Go on, now, you scare-cat, beat that.” 

Thus challenged, Tom jumped. He was 
not so fortunate. As he landed, his foot 
slipped in the welter of blood left from the exe- 
cution of the duck. He toppled over with one 
leg doubled up under him. He gave a shrill 
scream and fainted. Aghast at the unexpected 
outcome of the challenge, Jim and Richard ran 
to his side and tried to straighten out the in- 
jured leg, frantically imploring him to speak 
to them. 

Eddie with one glance at his brother’s white, 
senseless face, hobbled out of the barn and 
made for the house as fast as his lame leg would 
carry him, shrieking at the top of his voice: 
“ Tom’s killed ! Tom’s killed ! ” 

Mr. Randall happened to be just coming up 
on the porch. He reached the barn a minute 
ahead of his wife and Black Maggie, the cook. 
He carried Tom into the house and laid him on 
the dining-room sofa. Revived by the motion, 
Tom opened his eyes and began to moan. 


COUSIN JIM 


191 


Maggie, without waiting to be told, ran down 
the street, returning in a few minutes with the 
doctor. 

“ Don’t worry,” said Mr. Randall to his wife. 
“ It’s only a broken leg. I had mine broken 
twice, and you boys,” he added, “ get out of 
here and stay out where you won’t be in the 
road.” 

As soon as the doctor arrived, there was a 
scurrying through the house, a call for hot 
water, a rush by Maggie to the drug-store, oc- 
casional shrieks of pain from the patient, sobs 
from Mrs. Randall, the queer, all-pervading 
odor of antiseptics — and meanwhile, out on 
the front porch steps sat three small guilty 
boys, talking in whispers. 

“ I wonder if he’ll die,” said Richard. “ Do 
people ever die from broken legs? ” 

“Naw,” said Jim scornfully. “ I broke a 
finger once. It hurt awful, and I had to 
wear a bandage for ever so long, but that was 
all.” 

“ Do you s’pose,” breathed Eddie anxiously, 
“ that brother Tom’ll be lame when he gets 
well? ” 

“ No,” said Richard, “ people that are lame 
are born that way.” 


192 


“ LIMPY ” 


“ Old Jonas wasn’t,” replied Eddie. “ He 
lost his leg in battle.” 

“ That’s different, of course, but most peo- 
ple that are lame are born that way.” 

“ And they’ll never get over it, either,” added 
Jim unfeelingly. 

“ I guess that’s right,” said Eddie, gulping 
down a lump in his throat. 

By and by Maggie summoned them into the 
kitchen for an impromptu supper. Tom, they 
learned, had been carried up-stairs and put to 
bed in mother’s room and would have to stay 
there for weeks and weeks. Mother would 
stay there and nurse him and sleep on the 
lounge. Dad was to share Richard’s bed, and 
Cousin Jim and Eddie were to sleep together as 
had been previously arranged. 

As they ate their supper, an angry voice was 
heard at the kitchen-door. It was Mrs. Ma- 
lone demanding to see Mr. Randall. It took 
all Maggie’s diplomacy to get her away, and 
after she had gone, Maggie summoned Mr. 
Randall from up-stairs and held a whispered 
conference with him in the hall, while the boys 
listened with misgivings. 

“ She’s found out about the duck,” whispered 
Richard to the pirate leader. 


COUSIN JIM 


193 


“ Don’t you dare tell,” cautioned Jim; “ re- 
member you took the oath.” 

Eddie nodded assent. 

Mr. Randall’s face was set and stern as he 
strode into the kitchen. 

“ What have you boys been doing with Mrs. 
Malone’s ducks? ” he asked, turning with sus- 
picion toward Richard. 

“ Nothing,” said Dick promptly and boldly, 
fortified by the assurance of innocence. 

“ Nothing,” echoed Jim, equally boldly, for- 
tified by the consciousness of guilt. 

Mr. Randall turned to Eddie. “ And you, 
son?” 

“ Nothing,” stammered Eddie, not daring to 
break his pirates’ oath. 

“I’ll get at the truth of this matter in the 
morning,” announced Mr. Randall, returning 
to the sick-room up-stairs. 

Under the influence of the doctor’s powders, 
Tom had now fallen asleep; so his father be- 
gan telling his wife about the duck. 

“ As if we didn’t have enough trouble to- 
day,” he said, “the Widow Malone has just 
been over to report that she found one of her 
ducks in our barn with its head cut off. All 
the boys deny knowing anything about it* 


194 


“ LIMP Y ” 


But I’m going to look into the matter further 
in the morning. Those confounded youngsters 
must be taught to leave other people’s prop- 
erty alone.” 

“ Leave it to me,” counseled Mrs. Bandall. 
“ I’ll get Eddie to tell me how it happened.” 

But to her utter consternation Eddie abso- 
lutely refused to tell her anything. She 
begged, she pleaded, she threatened, but Eddie 
remained obdurate. To all her questions he re- 
mained at first sullenly silent, and at last tear- 
fully obstinate. 

“ I can’t imagine what has gotten into Ed- 
die,” she complained to her husband that night 
after the boys were all in bed. 

“ It’s the effect of Cousin Jim,” Mr. Ran- 
dall replied. “ He’s such a perfect little gen- 
tleman,” he added. 

His sarcasm was entirely lost on his wife. 
“ You’ll have to take that young ruffian home 
tomorrow,” she announced. “We can’t have 
him around. He hasn’t been here a day yet, 
and he’s responsible for Tom breaking his leg, 
and he blacked Richard’s eye, and has made 
Eddie tell lies. I just will not have him here 
corrupting our boys.” 

It was the next day. Father had departed 


• COUSIN JIM 


195 


on the morning train, escorting Cousin Jim 
home, Tom’s broken leg being given as the os- 
tensible reason why Mrs. Randall could no 
longer have him as a guest. Tom himself, fret- 
ful from pain, was keeping his mother busy 
waiting on him. Richard, lonesome for the 
companionship of his older brother, and in dis- 
grace over his swollen eye, had made the morn- 
ing miserable for Eddie by tormenting him. 

Eddie, in the black books of both dad and 
mother because of the fibs he had told in his 
efforts not to break the pirates’ oath, feeling ut- 
terly wretched and miserable, had at last 
escaped from Richard and sought shelter with 
his friend and counselor, old Jonas, the one- 
legged veteran. To him he had recounted the 
complete history of the dire events that had fol- 
lowed Cousin Jim’s arrival. 

“ And I couldn’t break my oath, the pirates’ 
oath, could I,” he concluded plaintively, “ even 
if I had to fib to dad and mother? ” 

“ Your mistake,” advised old Jonas, after 
pondering while he filled his pipe, “ was in fol- 
lowing your Cousin Jim into mischief in the 
first place. You’d ought to have found out 
what kind of a fellow he was first. You seen 
him hurl a stone at your own brother, didn’t 


196 


“ LIMPY ” 


ye? That oughter have warned you to look 
out for him. It’s a good rule, Eddie, all 
through life, to be pretty certain about a fellow 
before you tie up with him too close. When 
you make a new acquaintance, watch every lit- 
tle thing about him. If he has a mean streak 
in him, it’ll soon show in some little thing. It 
always pays to keep your eye on a strange 
dog’s tail.” 

“ For fear he’ll bite? ” asked Eddie. 

“ Yes,” said Jonas, “ for fear he’ll bite.” 


CHAPTER NINE 


A BAD PARTNERSHIP 

T HE mysterious call of Spring surged in 
the veins of the Randall boys. It filled 
them with those strange, exciting, hardly un- 
derstood longings and desires such as from time 
immemorial all men have felt, such vernal im- 
pulses as have driven whole tribes to migrate, 
crusaders to go forth crusading, bricklayers to 
strike, flat-dwellers in the city to buy lots in the 
suburbs, tramps to take to the road and small 
boys everywhere to become restless and dis- 
satisfied and devote their energies to devising 
new pastimes. 

“ How much money ’ve you got?” asked 
Richard of Tom. 

“ I’ve got a quarter,” Tom replied somewhat 
suspiciously. “ What do you want to know 
for? ” 

Only a few minutes before his father had 
given him the money in payment of an errand 
done two days ago. It had not been his in- 
tention to reveal the possession of this wealth to 


198 


LIMPY ” 


either of his brothers. He had secret plans 
that involved the spending of the whole amount 
without any assistance from either Richard or 
Eddie. He felt rather cross with himself for 
having let Dick surprise him into telling about 
it by his unexpected question. 

“ ’Tain’t enough,” answered Dick promptly. 

“ It isn’t enough,” corrected Tom. 

“ It isn’t enough. I’ve got fifteen cents my- 
self. It’ll take at least a dollar, or maybe a 
dollar and a quarter.” 

“ What’s the notion? ” 

Dick looked about to make sure they were 
unobserved and took the further precaution of 
whispering his idea into his brother’s ear. 

“ Great,” cried Tom enthusiastically, “ if we 
only had the money! ” 

“ We’ll get it somehow,” said Dick confi- 
dently. “ Where’s Limpy? He’s always got 
money.” 

“ Reading on the porch, I guess. That’s 
where he generally is.” 

“ Come on, let’s see.” 

It was quite true that Eddie generally was to 
be found on the porch reading. Even though 
he could not run and jump, he was far from 
being a melancholy youngster. He enjoyed 


A BAD PARTNERSHIP 199 


reading. His imagination was not crippled if 
his leg was, and in the printed page the young- 
est of the Randalls participated in far more 
glorious adventures than did his more active 
elder brothers. 

“ Say, Eddie,” interrupted Dick, “ how 
much money ’ve you got? ” 

Slowly and regretfully Eddie closed his 
book, marking his place with his finger. 

“ What do you want to know for? ” 

Eddie had learned from bitter experience 
that it was a wise precaution to find out all that 
was possible about Dick’s schemes before com- 
mitting himself to them. 

“ I’ve got a dandy scheme,” Dick persisted, 
as Eddie eyed him dubiously, “ but of course 
if you don’t want to go in with Tom and me — ” 
“ Is Tom in it? ” questioned Eddie. 

“ Sure,” said Tom, “ I’m in it, and if you’ve 
got money enough we’ll let you be partners 
with us.” 

Now that he knew that Dick’s plan had 
brother Tom’s approval Eddie felt that he was 
on safer ground. It was so seldom his brothers 
let' him participate in their affairs that he re- 
garded his opportunity to be partners with 
them as a great honor. 


200 


“ LIMPY ” 


“ I’ve eighty-nine cents,” he announced 
proudly. 

“ Bully,” said Dick. “ That’ll be enough. 
I know where we can get a lamb, a nice little 
woolly white lamb, for only a dollar and a quar- 
ter.” 

“ Oh, great! ” cried Eddie, in his enthusiasm 
dropping his book and losing his place. “ Can 
we really get it? Will mother let us keep 
it?” 

“ Sure she will. We’ll build a little pen for 
it out in the barn and we’ll take turns feeding 
it. It won’t need much to eat. All lambs eat 
is a little grass.” 

“ And by and by,” said Dick, “ when the 
lamb gets big, we’ll sell it and maybe get ten 
dollars for it.” 

“ Won’t that be fine? ” said Eddie. He had 
not even heard what Dick had said about sell- 
ing the lamb. He had been so busy thinking 
how nice it would be to have a real live pet to 
play with. It had been ever so long since they 
had had any pets. Mother would not have 
dogs about the place. She said a dog tracked 
up the porch so. Last year they had had a 
pair of rabbits. They had taken week about in 
feeding them but Dick had forgotten when it 


A BAD PARTNERSHIP 201 


came his turn and the rabbits had died. 
F ather had said then they were to have no more 
pets until they had learned how to take care of 
them. Eddie made up his mind now that 
whether it was his turn or not he would always 
see that the lamb got plenty to eat. 

“ Hurry up,” commanded Tom, “ get your 
money and we’ll go after it.” 

Scrambling quickly to his feet Eddie 
limped hastily upstairs to the chest in which he 
kept his books and other treasures, returning 
with three quarters, a dime and four pennies 
which he surrendered to Tom, as treasurer of 
the new partnership. Dick, as pilot, led the 
way to the railroad siding where a flock of 
sheep was assembled awaiting shipment. An 
hour before, he had conducted the preliminary 
negotiations for a lamb, so the deal was quickly 
concluded. 

It was a wabbly-legged little woolly animal 
with a feeble bleat, but they felt well- satisfied 
with their purchase and the three of them had 
a lot of fun getting it home. First they un- 
dertook to lead it with a rope around its neck, 
but the lamb had other notions. Dick tried 
getting behind and pushing it, but the lamb lay 
down whenever he attempted this. They gath- 


202 


LIMP Y ” 


ered grass and leaves and tried luring it on 
step by step, but this method of progress 
proved too slow to be satisfactory. Eventually 
they solved the problem by taking turns in 
carrying it. At least Tom and Richard took 
turns. When Eddie begged to be allowed to 
take the new pet in his arms Dick wouldn’t let 
him. 

“ You’re too lame,” he announced. “ You 
might stumble with it and it’d get hurt and 
die.” 

After that Eddie did not plead any more to 
carry the lamb. He was sensitive about his 
lameness, even when his own brothers spoke of 
it. His face colored and a lump came into his 
throat. Oh, so often it seemed that when there 
was anything he wanted to do very much he was 
always “ too lame.” At least he wasn’t too 
lame to hobble along beside his brothers, from 
time to time reaching out his hand to touch the 
lamb’s little cold nose or to smooth its soft 
w T ool. 

“ Anyhow the lamb doesn’t know I’m lame,” 
he consoled himself. “ I’ll make it like me bet- 
ter than it does Tom and Dick.” 

Somewhat to their surprise their mother 
made no objection to their having this new pet. 


A BAD PARTNERSHIP 203 


Probably she did not foresee any probability of 
its becoming a habitue of the house. 

“ Why, boys, where did you get the nice lit- 
tle lamb? ” was all she said. 

“ Down by the railroad track,” Tom an- 
swered, feeling somewhat relieved when she 
did not ask how much they had paid for it. He 
felt sure it was worth a dollar and a quarter but 
he was not so certain his mother would think 
so. 

“ Don’t forget to feed it! ” she called after 
them as they took it off to the barn. 

For the first day or two the three boys were 
in a constant wrangle over the lamb. They 
argued for hours over the selection of a name 
for it, finally adopting that suggested by Ed- 
die. 

“ Its wool is sort of reddish about the head,” 
he had remarked, “ so let’s call it Queen Bess, 
after the Queen of England. She had red 
hair.” 

And Queen Bess the lamb became. 

Providing rations for Queen Bess’s insatiable 
appetite at first seemed quite a pleasant pas- 
time. The boys gathered grass and leaves and 
begged lettuce and cabbage from the cook. 
They tied Queen Bess to a tree in the yard and 


204 


LIMPY 


watched to see how long it would take her to 
nibble a bare circle around the tree. The build- 
ing of a pen in the barn took Tom and Richard 
nearly the whole day, but soon they began to 
tire of their new pet. 

Queen Bess had too peaceful a disposition to 
satisfy either the energetic Tom or the bellicose 
Dick. It was not long before everyone in the 
household began to refer to Queen Bess as 
Eddie’s lamb. He alone remained faithful in 
his attendance on the Queen. It was he who 
fed and watered her. It was he who hurried 
home from school to shift the tether to another 
tree before the grass was quite nibbled to the 
roots. 

Jubilantly he informed old Jonas Tucker 
of the new acquisition. 

“ So you’ve got a pet lamb, have you,” said 
old Jonas, chuckling, “ all your own! ” 

“ Well, not quite all my own,” Eddie ex- 
plained. “ Tom and Dick and I are partners 
in it.” 

“ So that’s it, is it? And I suppose you take 
turns in feeding it.” 

“ Oh, no,” said Eddie, “ they’re very nice 
about it. They let me feed it most of the 
time.” 


A BAD PARTNERSHIP 205 


“ I’ll warrant they do that,” said old Jonas 
with a fine sarcasm that was, entirely lost on 
Eddie. “ Was the lamb given to you? ” 

“ We bought it for a dollar and a quarter. 
I put in eighty-nine cents.” 

“ Oh, I see, — so it’s mostly yours.” 

“ No,” said Eddie, “ we all own it. We’re 
partners in it. That’s what Brother Tom said. 
Don’t you understand? ” 

Old Jonas shook his head sagely. 

“You want to watch out for this partner 
business, Eddie. It ain’t always such a very 
good thing. You’re apt to get the worst of it 
when you go partners with any one.” 

“ But these partners are my own brothers,” 
Eddie persisted. “ We bought the lamb to- 
gether and we own it together, don’t we? ” 
“Yes and no. As long as partners agree 
everything’s all right but when they have a fall- 
ing out it is one against one or two against 
one and there’s the dickens to pay.” 

“ But Tom and Dick are nice partners. 
They let me take care of Queen Bess most all 
the time. Why, they even speak of her as 
mine.” 

“ All I can say is,” cautioned old Jonas, 
“watch out for partners. I went partners 


206 


“ LIMPY ” 


once with a couple of men. I was twelve years 
paying off their debts.” 

Yet as the days went by old Jonas’s warning 
seemed wholly uncalled for. Eddie was left in 
undisputed possession of the new pet. Queen 
Bess, too, grew very much attached to him and 
followed him about, pattering after him just 
like a little white dog. Mrs. Randall learned 
to her dismay that lambs could track up clean 
floors and porches with almost as much facility 
as puppies could. For a while, until his mother 
put a stop to it, it was no unusual thing to find 
Eddie reading on the dining-room sofa with the 
lamb snuggling up to him. 

But as time went on Queen Bess, as she grew 
and grew, seemed to be losing her lamblike 
peacefulness. She began to exhibit a spirit of 
aggressiveness and to acquire the habit of leap- 
ing lightly out of her pen whenever she found 
the barn door open, and with three boys in 
the family open doors were no unusual occur- 
rence. 

While Queen Bess was little Eddie gave her 
a bath almost every day and spent much time in 
combing out her long white wool. By and by 
as the novelty wore off and Queen Bess’s size 
made these ablutions more difficult the lamb 


A BAD PARTNERSHIP 207 


went practically unwashed and her matted wool 
was generally full of cinders, detracting greatly 
from her beauty in the eyes of everyone but 
Eddie. 

One day as Mr. Randall was about to eject 
Queen Bess from the front porch, he stooped 
suddenly and ran his hand over the animal’s 
head. Dick noticed that he was chuckling. 

“ What is it, Dad,” he asked. “ What’s the 
matter? ” 

“ Eddie’s lamb is growing horns,” Mr. Ran- 
dall announced. 

“ Oh, fellers,” shrilled Dick to his brothers, 
“ what do you think? Queen Bess isn’t a she. 
She’s a he. Come look! ” 

The other two boys came running at such a 
startling announcement and all three of them 
in turn felt Queen Bess’s head to verify the fact 
discovered by their father. Sure enough there 
were horns sprouting, two hard little lumps, but 
unquestionably horns. 

“ And Queen Bess isn’t a nanny lamb at all,” 
cried Eddie in disappointed tones. 

“ You bet she isn’t,” said Dick, “ She’s a billy 
lamb.” 

“ Oh, shucks,” said Tom with the superior 
knowledge of fourteen, “ you don’t call sheep 


208 “ LIMPY ” 

nannies and billies. That’s what they call 
goats.” 

“ What do they call them then? ” demanded 
Dick. 

“ Why,” faltered Tom — for the life of him 
he could not remember — “ they call them — 
that is — ” 

“ Bucks and ewes,” said his father, coming to 
his rescue. 

“ At any rate,” said Tom, “ we’ve got to find 
a new name for her. Tell you what, we’ll call 
him Pete.” 

“ T’sright,” echoed Dick, “ Pete it is.” 

“ I don’t think that is a nice name,” objected 
Eddie. “ I am going to call him Sir Walter.” 

“ Nothing doing,” insisted Dick. “ His 
name is Pete. I guess he’s as much our lamb 
as he is yours. Isn’t that right, Tom? ” 

“ Sure it’s right,” decided Tom. “ We all 
three went partners in him. Dick and I say 
his name’s to be Pete so that settles it.” 

“ I suppose it does,” said Eddie sorrowfully, 
his sense of loyalty to his brothers restraining 
him from further argument. He did not like 
Pete for a name at all, and after that when he 
was alone with the lamb he used to pretend that 
Pete was a knight travelling incognito and 


A BAD PARTNERSHIP 209 

then he invariably addressed him as “ Sir 
Walter.” 

It did not seem to make much difference to 
Pete by what name he was called. He still 
continued to follow Eddie around and when he 
was barred from following his playmate into 
the house he would make himself at home on 
the porch until Eddie came out again. To- 
ward others however his disposition continued 
to grow more aggressive. Once or twice when 
Black Maggie drove him away from the kitchen 
door he showed an inclination to resent it. He 
would lower his head and “ baa ” at her omi- 
nously. On one occasion he even made a rush 
at her and tried to butt her, but was quickly put 
to rout with her broom. 

“ Dat Pete lamb’s getting to be a powerful 
nuisance round here,” she complained vocifer- 
ously to Mrs. Randall. 

“ I know it, but Eddie loves him so, and the 
poor little chap has so few pleasures.” 

“ Yas’m, dat’s the truf,” Maggie would re- 
ply, for with all her complaining the Randalls’ 
cook was fond of all three boys and would have 
been the last person in the world to deprive 
Eddie of any joy in life. Of the three he was 
her favorite, for he was far more thoughtful of 


210 


“ LIMPY ” 


others than Dick or Tom, and since the time 
that old Jonas had pointed out how much other 
people did for him and how little he did for 
others he had conscientiously tried to do all the 
little services he could each day — that is, he 
tried when he didn’t forget. 

If Pete had only confined his unwelcome at- 
tentions to Maggie and the other members of 
the Randall family he might have continued in 
his career for many months unmolested. Un- 
fortunately he was not discriminating. 

When the notion seized him Pete would 
scamper merrily off to some neighbor’s garden 
and make a midday meal of the pea vfri^s or 
the pansy plants, his sharp little hoofs demol- 
ishing almost as much as did his insatiable jaws. 
One day, too, in a playful mood he butted 
Floribel Finch, arrayed in a clean white slip, 
right off the sidewalk into a pool of muddy 
water. With the people who lived on all sides 
of them the Randalls began to have strained 
relations. 

The boys of the town, however, began to take 
new interest in Pete, as he developed a warlike 
spirit. Fatty Bullen with Froggie Sweeney 
and Tom and Richard invented a brand new 
game with Pete as the star performer. 


A BAD PARTNERSHIP 211 


With an old red cape that had once belonged 
to F atty’s sister they played bull-fight. They 
would take turns in wearing the cape and teas- 
ing Pete until he would angrily lower his head 
and charge them. The other boys armed with 
sharpened sticks would play that they were 
matadors and drive Pete off. Sometimes the 
red-caped tormentor would not get out of the 
way quite quickly enough and would he igno- 
miniously butted over amid the shouts of the 
comrades. Such mishaps only added to the 
merriment of the game and caused their moth- 
ers to wonder how they managed to tear their 
cloMies in such queer places. 

In this sport Eddie took no part. He could 
not have done so, even if he had wished to, for 
his iron brace prevented him from running. 
Furthermore it always grieved him to see his 
gentle pet tormented. 

“ Aw, fellows, don’t tease him,” he would 
protest. 

“ He’s as much ours as he is yours,” Dick 
would remind him. “ Didn’t we go partners 
in him? ” 

“ Please, Tom, don’t let them tease Pete,” 
he would appeal to his oldest brother; but Tom 
always sided with Dick, so there would be noth- 


212 


“ LIMPY ” 


ing left for him to do but to go off to his fav- 
orite spot on the front porch where he could 
not see the bull fight and try to forget about 
it by getting interested in some book. But 
eventually Mr. Randall noticed how cross Pete 
was becoming. 

“ There’s no use in talking,” he said to his 
wife, “ we’ll just have to get rid of that lamb 
of Eddie’s. He’s getting to be a regular 
neighborhood nuisance.” 

“ But Eddie is so fond of him,” Mrs. Ran- 
dall protested. 

“ Some day he’ll hurt some one, you’ll see,” 
Mr. Randall prophesied and there the matter 
rested. 

One day soon after this Mr. Obadiah IT. 
McCabe came into town to see Mr. Randall 
about some law business. He was an eccentric 
old bachelor, short, smooth-shaven, bald- 
headed and stout, who when he came to town 
always wore an old frock coat and a silk hat 
that antedated the coat. He held mortgages 
on about half the county and was very close- 
fisted in money matters. This resulted in his 
constantly being in lawsuits and made him one 
of Mr. Randall’s best clients. Yet with all his 
peculiarities and his abnormal love of money 


A BAD PARTNERSHIP 213 


he had a warm spot in his heart for the Randall 
family and seldom came in from his farm with- 
out bringing some sort of gift either to Mrs. 
Randall or to one of the three boys. 

On this occasion after his business with 
Mr. Randall had been completed he informed 
him: 

“ I’ve a dozen new-laid eggs here in this bas- 
ket which I thought your wife might like.” 

“ She’ll be delighted to get them,” said Mr. 
Randall cordially. “ Why don’t you take 
them up to the house yourself and have a little 
visit with her? I know she will be glad to have 
you. I’ll finish up what I am doing here and 
will come along home in about half an hour 
and by then it will be dinner-time and you can 
stay and have dinner with us.” 

Pleased with the prospect of getting a dinner 
for nothing and of having a visit with Mrs. 
Randall, the little old gentleman trotted off 
up the street carrying his basket of eggs. As 
he entered the Randall gate Pete was occupy- 
ing his favorite spot on the front door-mat. 
He looked with some disfavor on the squat 
little figure in the high hat approaching to dis- 
turb him and sniffed suspiciously at the basket. 

At that Pete might have gotten up and let 


214 


“ LIMPY ” 


the visitor pass unchallenged but for an unfor- 
tunate incident. The day was warm and Ob- 
adiah H. McCabe was portly and had been 
walking fast. As he reached the top step he 
set down the basket of eggs and drew forth a 
large red bandana handkerchief with the inten- 
tion of wiping the perspiration from his brow 
before making his presence known. 

The red bandana waved before him to Pete’s 
mind could mean nothing but a challenge. He 
hastily scrambled to his feet and with an angry 
bleat charged at the unsuspecting old gentle- 
man. The impact of Pete’s hard head against 
his legs took Mr. McCabe entirely by surprise. 
He stumbled against the basket of eggs, knock- 
ing them down the steps, and then toppled over 
backwards right into the mess they made. His 
silk hat, too, rolled off and went bumping down 
the steps. Pete, for a moment bewildered by 
the outcome of his attack, stood there eying the 
havoc he had made and then charged after the 
hat. He soon succeeded in reducing it to utter 
ruin and, in some way managed to get it en- 
tangled in his growing horns. Unable to shake 
it loose he turned in search of some new foe. 

Mr. McCabe, his body badly bruised, and his 
self-esteem in a much worse condition, had just 


A BAD PARTNERSHIP 215 


succeeded in collecting his scattered wits 
enough to try to get up and had managed to 
painfully raise himself on all fours. Once 
more Pete valiantly charged from behind and 
butted him over to earth again. 

Just at this minute, Black Maggie, attracted 
by the commotion, came to the front door to 
see what was the matter. The sight she be- 
held was too much for her sense of humor. 
She burst into shrieks of laughter that quickly 
brought Mrs. Randall to the scene. 

Mrs. Randall knew she should not have 
laughed, but who could have helped doing so? 
There on the ground was poor little fat bald 
Mr. McCabe, hatless, with his frock coat all 
yellow with egg, trying to get to his feet. 
There right beside him was the bellicose Pete, 
looking thoroughly ridiculous with the bat- 
tered silk hat on his horns, butting over Mr. 
McCabe every time he tried to get up, both of 
them getting angrier and angrier every time 
it happened. 

Mrs. Randall and Black Maggie both held 
their sides and laughed and laughed and 
laughed. 

Sputtering with wrath Mr. McCabe at last 
managed to get to his feet. He aimed a vicious 


216 


“ LIMPY " 


but futile kick at Pete and with one furious 
glance at his audience, strode hatless down the 
street, endeavoring as far as was possible in 
his disheveled condition to assume an air of 
injured hauteur. 

Mr. Randall, just leaving his office, caught 
a glimpse of Mr. McCabe climbing into his 
buggy at the livery-stable. He ran after him 
and called out to ask what was the matter. 
The only answer he received was a fist shaken 
angrily at him as the hatless occupant of the 
buggy drove rapidly in the direction of home. 

With a feeling of disaster impending, Mr. 
Randall hurried to his own house to find out 
what had happened. Even he could not help 
laughing as his wife described his client’s en- 
counter with Pete. 

“ It will be no laughing matter for us, 
though,” he announced, “ for old Mr. McCabe 
has been one of my best clients and probably 
he never will speak to me again. One thing 
is settled. Those boys have got to get rid of 
that animal this very day before he does any 
more damage.” 

“ I suppose so,” said Mrs. Randall, “ but I 
know it is going to break Eddie’s heart to part 
with his pet.” 


A BAD PARTNERSHIP 217 

“ I can’t help that. Let Tom and Richard 
take him away this afternoon while Eddie is 
making his daily call on old Jonas. I don’t 
care what they do with Pete. They can sell 
him or give him away. I don’t want to 
find him here when I come home this eve- 
ning.” 

So when Eddie came home late that after- 
noon Pete was missing. 

“ Where’s my lamb? ” he inquired anxiously. 

“ We sold him,” Tom announced. 

“ What,” cried Eddie, hardly believing his 
ears, “ sold my lamb! ” 

“ Yep,” said Dick, “ he butted old Mr. Ob- 
adiah H. McCabe down our front steps to-day 
and Dad ordered us to get rid of him right 
away. The butcher gave us six dollars for 
him.” 

“ And here’s the eighty-nine cents you put 
in,” said Tom, handing him the money. 

Mechanically Eddie took it, for a moment 
too stunned to think about anything except that 
his pet was gone. He was beginning to be 
somewhat of a philosopher and he comforted 
himself in the thought that anyhow Pete since 
he had grown so big and cross was not nearly 
so satisfactory a playmate as he had been at 


218 


“ LIMP Y ” 


first. He felt, too, that Dad’s order was a 
just one. By and by, too, his sense of arith- 
metic began to clamor for recognition. 

“ How much did you say you got for Pete,” 
he demanded. 

“ Six dollars,” Dick blurted out again, un- 
mindful of a warning glance from Tom. 

Eddie slowly counted over the money in his 
hand. 

“ Say,” he protested, “ we all three were 
partners and if you got six dollars — ” 

“ What’s the matter,” said Dick,” didn’t we 
give you back all the money you put into it and 
you had all the fun of taking care of him be- 
sides — ” 

“ Yes, but I put in most of the money and I 
ought — ” 

“ Hold on,” interrupted Tom, “ it was our 
scheme, wasn’t it? And we let you come in 
on it and we let you have the lamb to play 
with, didn’t we? ” 

“ Yes, but—” 

“ Eighty-nine cents is right,” insisted Dick 
firmly. 

“ Yep,” agreed Tom. “ It’s right.” 

With his two brothers against him Eddie 
felt it was useless to protest further, but the 


A BAD PARTNERSHIP 219 


next afternoon he related his grievances in full 
to old Jonas. 

“ And while I was away,” he said in con- 
clusion, “ they took Pete to the butcher and 
sold him and got six dollars — six whole dol- 
lars for him and all he cost was a dollar and a 
quarter. I’d put in eighty-nine cents of it but 
all they gave me back out of the six dollars was 
my own eighty-nine cents. Do you think that 
was fair? ” 

“ Yes and no,” said old Jonas after a mo- 
ment’s meditation while he refilled his pipe. 
“You see you oughtn’t to have gone partners 
with them without having everything under- 
stood. Before you put your money in you 
should have asked who was to take care of the 
lamb and how much you were to get if the 
lamb was sold for a profit. All you was look- 
ing for when you went into the partnership 
was a little woolly lamb to play with and that’s 
what you got. Tom and Richard was looking 
for something else and they got it, too. Ain’t 
that right, Eddie? ” 

“ Yes,” said the little lame boy thoughtfully, 
“ I guess you are right. I wasn’t thinking 
about money when I went partners, I was 
only thinking about the lamb.” 


220 


“ LIMPY ” 


“ And your brothers, I’ll warrant,” said old 
Jonas, “ were thinking most about the money, 
and in this world people generally get what 
they think most about. And remember this, 
Eddie, partners is partners even when they’re 
your own brothers.” 


CHAPTER TEN 


“i’m not a ’fraid-cat! ” 

>TR. JONAS,” said Eddie, looking up 

I. V JL into the face of the grizzled one-legged 
veteran, who sat sunning himself in front of 
his tobacco-shop, “ are you ever afraid of any- 
thing? ” 

Jonas Tucker looked quizzically down at 
Edward Haverford Randall, perched on the 
top of an upturned box, and meditated a mo- 
ment before making his reply. 

“ Yes and no,” he said at length. “ You 
see, it’s this way : I used to be scared of a lot 
of things, but somehow as I get older, there 
don’t seem to be many things left worth being 
scared of.” 

“ Well, when you were afraid, what were 
you afraid of ? ” demanded the boy. 

“ Well, let’s see,” said Jonas, “ after I had 
my leg off, I used to be scared I mightn’t be 
able to earn a living and might have to die in 
the poorhouse. There was years and years 


222 


“ LIMPY ” 


that I worried about that, and what good did 
it do me? Here I am, well over seventy, and 
have never been near the poorhouse yet. Even 
if I had to go now, I don’t think I’d be afraid 
of it. I’d have a roof over my head and a 
place to sleep, and I don’t eat much anyhow; 
so what difference would it make? ” 

“ No, I s’pose it wouldn’t, and I could come 
and see you there, too, couldn’t I? ” 

“ You bet you could,” replied Jonas warmly. 
“ I just wouldn’t stay anywhere where they 
wouldn’t let you come. So, you see, Eddie, 
it don’t pay to be afraid of things. Most of 
the things we’re afraid of never hurt us.” 

“Were you ever afraid of cows?” asked 
Eddie irrelevantly. 

Old Jonas nodded sagely. “ So that’s it, is 
it?” 

“ Yes,” said Eddie miserably, “ that’s it. I 
was going along the street with Tom and Rich- 
ard, and a cow came along, and I ducked, and 
they laughed and called me ’fraid-cat.” 

“ I’ll warrant they did. And are you afraid 
of cows? ” 

“ Yes,” admitted Eddie truthfully, “ I guess 
I am; at least, I’m scared of cows I’m not ac- 
quainted with.” 


“I’M NOT A ’FRAID-CAT ! ” 223 

“For all that,” said old Jonas, “I don’t 
know as that makes you a ’fraid-cat even if 
your brothers did call you one. You see, Ed- 
die, they don’t understand. A fellow with two 
good legs always figures that if anything comes 
after him, he can run and get away. Now, a 
fellow with only a leg and a half has always 
got to look where he’s going. I wouldn’t call 
him a ’fraid-cat for doing that; he’s just being 
sensible and cautious.” 

“ But I don’t like being called ’fraid-cat,” 
protested the youngster, a little in doubt as to 
Jonas’s philosophy. 

“ That’s no way to look at it. If you are 
a ’fraid-cat, people have a right to call you 
one. If you’re not, and you know you’re not, 
why it doesn’t make any difference what they 
call you.” 

“ I guess I understand,” said Eddie thought- 
fully, “ and I’m going to try never to be a 
’fraid-cat. Tom and Dick can say it all they 
want to, but I’ll try not to mind a bit.” 

“ That’s the ticket! ” said old Jonas. “ No- 
body could do more’n that — not even a two- 
legged fellow.” 

That evening Mr. and Mrs. Randall were 
discussing the very same subject. What 


224 


“ LIMPY ” 


brought it up was a letter from Mrs. Randall’s 
Aunt Carrie Mason. She and her husband 
lived in a little farm village about twenty miles 
away. 

“ I wish,” said her letter, “ you would let 
one of the boys come and make us a week’s 
visit. Any one of the three will do. You 
surely can spare one of them that long.” 

“ Better send Eddie,” suggested Mr. Ran- 
dall. “ I heard Tom and Richard calling him 
a ’fraid-cat because he ran from a cow. Bet- 
ter send him out among the cows and make a 
man of him. It will do him a lot of good. 
You baby him too much.” 

“ Poor little fellow,” said Mrs. Randall, ut- 
terly unconscious of her husband’s last remark. 
“ Yes, I think we would better let Eddie go. 
He has so few amusements.” 

So it was settled that Eddie should go to 
Aunt Carrie’s. 

“ A farm’s no place for a ’fraid-cat,” said 
Dick scornfully. “You better watch out or 
the cows’ll eat you.” 

“ I don’t see why they let you go,” said Tom. 
“ A farm is a great place for hunting, and you 
can’t hunt.” 

But Eddie, mindful of Jonas’s good advice, 


“I’M NOT A ’FRAID-CAT ! ” 225 


only smiled happily. He did not care if Dick 
did call him a ’fraid-cat. He had made up 
his mind not to let himself be afraid of any- 
thing ever again. So long as he knew he 
wasn’t a ’fraid-cat, what difference did it 
make? 

His first day on the farm was one wonderful 
round of excitement. All day long he was 
about the place with Uncle John or Aunt Car- 
rie, taking personal interest in and asking many 
questions about everything he saw. 

“ Don’t you keep any cows, Uncle John? ” 
he inquired politely, not without a quaver in 
his voice. If they did have cows, he wondered 
how he was going to keep from being afraid 
of them. He had already thoroughly in- 
spected the barn, the pig-pens, and the dog- 
house. Nowhere could he see any evidence of 
the presence of cattle, although he had always 
supposed that everybody in the country kept 
cows of their own. 

“ No,” said Uncle John, “ we haven’t had 
any cows for years. You see, there are only 
the two of us, and it would hardly be worth 
while. We get what milk we need at Henry 
Young’s place across the fields there. You 


226 “ LIMPY ” 

can go with me for the milk after supper if you 
want to.” 

Of course he wanted to, and after the eve- 
ning meal he and Uncle John took a pail and 
set out across the fields. It was rather a long 
walk for Eddie, nearly a quarter of a mile, but 
there were so many interesting novelties about 
the journey that he hardly noticed the distance. 
There were the bars to the pasture and a stile 
with steps, and a gate to which was attached 
a bucket of stones on a chain so that it closed 
itself, all of which were new to him. 

The prospect of meeting people also ap- 
pealed to the little lame chap. Hitherto his 
acquaintances had been limited to a few peo- 
ple in the town in which he lived, the boys and 
girls he knew at school, the families that went 
to the same church. He thoroughly enjoyed 
being introduced to Farmer Young and his 
wife, to their daughter, and to the two hired 
men, Joe and Sam. He was interested in see- 
ing the great stables with rows of stalls, one 
for each cow, and in watching the farmer’s 
daughter and the two men milking and carry- 
ing the great pails of foaming milk to the dairy 
to be strained and emptied into huge cans. 
The old-fashioned spring-house with its crocks 


“I’M NOT A TRAID-CAT!” 227 


of cream set in the cold water, the churns, the 
buttermilk barrel, everything was so interest- 
ing and novel that Eddie was sorry when Uncle 
John, through chatting with Farmer Young, 
was ready to depart. 

When they got back home, Eddie, tired from 
traveling, from the excitement, from the trip 
after the milk, was quite ready to go to bed. 
It was a pleasant novelty to go up-stairs with 
a candle instead of turning on the electric light 
as they did at home. His aunt conducted him 
to a small room in the attic where he was to 
sleep. After he had undressed and got into 
bed, he hesitated just a minute as he started to 
blow out his candle. 

All of a sudden a great sense of loneliness 
— of homesickness — came over him. He re- 
membered that it was the first time in his life 
that he had gone to bed without a good-night 
kiss from his mother. Up to this time he had 
been so busy and so interested that he had not 
even thought about her. He wondered if she 
was missing him. He wondered what his 
brothers and dad were doing. He wondered 
if they were thinking about him. He wished 
he could see them, all. He was almost sorry 
he had come. 


228 


“ LIMPY ” 


Fear began to creep over him — terror of 
the dark, terror of the unknown. Pie dared 
not blow out the candle and leave himself all 
alone there in the darkness. He was so far 
away from every one, up there in the attic. 
His imagination began to picture all sorts of 
terrible things that might happen to him. He 
wanted his mother so, or Tom, or Richard, or 
Jonas — 

At the thought of old Jonas, his parting 
words of advice came back to Eddie. He 
wasn’t a ’f raid-cat ! He wouldn’t be a ’fraid- 
cat! There wasn’t anything to fear. Reso- 
lutely he raised himself under the covers and 
blew out the candle, sinking back in bed with 
a little shiver. 

The next thing he knew he heard Aunt Car- 
rie’s voice at the foot of the stairs bidding him 
hurry or he would be late to breakfast. 

Very pleasantly indeed passed the second 
day of his visit, and before he realized it, it 
was supper-time again. 

“ I’ve got to go down to the post-office this 
evening,” said Uncle John, as he got up from 
the table. “ Eddie, I wonder if you could go 
for the milk alone tonight. You know the 
way.” 


“I’M NOT A TRAID-CAT!” 229 

“ Sure I could! ” cried the boy delightedly. 
“ May I? ” It made him feel very important 
and useful to be called on to do some one a 
service. 

“I’m afraid it’s too much of a walk for him 
with his lameness,” objected Aunt Carrie, 
“ and I wanted ten cents’ worth of cream as 
well as the milk tonight. I was going to make 
a shortcake tomorrow. I’m afraid Eddie 
can’t manage two pails.” 

“ A shortcake,” shouted Eddie, “ you bet I 
can carry both pails! That’s nothing, I often 
carry things.” 

So with a pail in each hand he hobbled off 
across the fields. Some way the trip this time 
seemed far longer than it had when he was 
with his uncle. He was so long in arriving at 
the gate that he was beginning to be afraid that 
he had missed his way, and it was not until he 
was in sight of the Youngs’ farmhouse that he 
was quite certain about it. When he arrived, 
he was decidedly glad that he had come. So 
many interesting things had happened since he 
had been there the evening before. Joe had 
shot a hawk that had been after the chickens 
and had kept the dead bird to show to Eddie. 
There was a weasel, too, that had been trapped 
as it tried to steal eggs. Sam had skinned it 


230 


“ LIMP Y ” 


and after rubbing salt in the skin had tacked 
it on the barn-door to dry. 

“ My! ” said Eddie, as he examined it and 
felt the soft fur, “ I wish Brother Tom was 
here to see that.” 

There was a new little calf in the barn, which 
Eddie inspected with wondering admiration, 
and he had to hear how the bees had swarmed, 
which accounted for their being late with the 
milking that evening. Altogether there was 
so much to see and so many questions to ask 
that he almost forgot what he had come for. 

“ It’s getting dark,” Mrs. Young called out. 
“ Eddie, you’d better be getting home with that 
milk.” 

Getting dark! It was dark. By the 
time Eddie had loaded up with his pail of 
milk and his smaller pail of cream and was 
ready to set out for home, he could not see 
any distance in front of him. With quaking 
heart he plunged forth into the unknown. 
The gate, easy enough to get through in the 
daytime, loomed up as the first difficulty. He 
had to set one of the pails down, carry the 
other through, and then come back and get the 
second pail. 

He shivered with nervous dread as he hob- 


“I’M NOT A ’FRAID-CAT!” 231 

bled on across the field. The thousand and 
one strange noises of the night; terrified him. 
He wanted to hurry, to run, but he found that 
he could not. Whenever he sought to quicken 
his pace, he found that both the milk and the 
cream would slop out of the pails. The only 
way he could manage to carry them safely was 
to walk very slowly and carefully, for his gait 
at the best was irregular. Each step he took 
seemed to be carrying him farther and farther 
into a land of unknown terrors. As he left 
the lights of the farmhouse behind him, a ter- 
rible sense of desolation and loneliness over- 
took him. Trees, bushes, and little clumps of 
grass in the darkness assumed all sorts of un- 
familiar and soul-shaking shapes. 

As he peered ahead of him, trying to see the 
path, he stopped short with a shudder. He 
saw something moving, something coming to- 
ward him. Nearer and nearer came the indis- 
tinct, grotesque figure. He wanted to scream. 
His throat seemed to close. His heart began 
to pump wildly. His knees shook. He heard 
something go “ sniff, sniff.” 

Visions of all kinds of fierce wild beasts 
passed through his head. Maybe it was a bear. 
He turned to flee, but stumbled and fell. 


232 


“ LIMPY ” 


Both pails went crashing down with a great 
clatter. From the darkness came a startled 
“ wumpf.” The terrifying shape seemed to 
rise in the air and vanished. 

For a moment Eddie lay where he had fallen, 
great sobs of fright wracking his slender body. 
“ I’m not a ’fraid-cat,” he kept resolutely say- 
ing to himself. “ I’m not! I’m not! I won’t 
be!” 

At last he managed to get to his feet. 
He was horrified to find that the contents of 
both pails had been spilled. What was to be 
done about it? Maybe Uncle John and Aunt 
Carrie would be angry with him. It was the 
first errand with which they had trusted him. 
There was no way out of it. He must go back 
through the terrifying darkness and get some 
more milk and cream. In his pocket was a 
quarter, a bright new quarter, that dad had 
given him for spending money. He would go 
back and give it to Mrs. Young and tell her 
he had spilled the milk and cream and ask her 
for some more. He hoped that he would have 
enough money to pay for it. He would not 
tell Uncle John and Aunt Carrie anything 
about it. If he did, they would never trust 
him again. Maybe Joe or Sam would walk 


“I’M NOT A ’FRAID-CAT ! ” 233 


back with him across the fields this time. No, 
he decided, he wasn’t a ’fraid-cat. He would 
not let them come with him even if they wanted 
to. He would get the pails refilled and would 
carry them home all by himself. He would 
not let any one imagine that he was afraid. 
He just would say that he had tripped and 
spilled the milk and cream and would ask for 
some more. 

Resolutely he made his way back to the 
dairy. Mrs. Young quickly refilled the pails 
and would not take his money. 

“ Accidents will happen,” she said cheerily, 
“ and watch out you don’t stumble this 
time.” 

If it took courage to set out for home the 
first time, it took still greater valor to start 
the second time. The first time Eddie had 
feared there might be unknown dangers in the 
dark. This time he knew! Somewhere in the 
field beyond the gate a great wild beast of some 
sort lay in wait for him. He had seen it dimly 
through the darkness. He had heard it sniff- 
ing at him. If the noise of the falling pails 
had not scared it off, there was no telling what 
might have happened to him. He looked 
about for a stick or club but could find none. 


234 


LIMPY ” 


Even if he had a weapon, he could not carry 
it, as his hands were full. 

The night seemed to be getting blacker and 
blacker. Up in the sky were thousands and 
thousands of stars, but they did not seem to 
give any light at all. Vaguely Eddie won- 
dered why they did not have street-lamps in 
the country. He had been out at night lots 
and lots of times at home, but there were 
always lights enough there to see where you 
were going. Here there were no lights at 
all. 

He could barely make out the path by which 
he had come. Still badly shaken by his pre- 
vious experience, he now began to seem to see 
things moving all about him. The cold sweat 
gathered on his forehead. Strange rustlings 
and squeakings came from all sides. Some- 
times his foot descending fell on a clump of 
grass instead of the path, and it was as if he 
had walked on something alive. He would 
start and shudder and hesitate, hardly daring 
to take another step, yet he forced himself to 
go on and on. 

At last he reached the gate again. What 
lay in wait for him behind it? Was the 
mysterious animal still there? Carefully he 


“I’M NOT A TRAID-CAT!” 235 

set down the pail of cream and, holding the 
gate open, got the milk safely through. He 
returned for the cream. So far nothing had 
happened, but it was living torture to go 
through the gate once more carrying the cream, 
plunging again into the horrors of the un- 
known. 

Step by step he felt his way through the 
darkness, growing more and, more terrified as 
he approached the spot where he had encoun- 
tered the animal. He strained his eyes in vain 
trying to see what lay before him. Shaking in 
every limb he advanced carefully, cautiously, 
debating what he should do in case he was con- 
fronted by — he knew not what. He hardly 
dared breathe. 

Terror of a new sort seized him. He won- 
dered if he was on the right path. He stopped 
stock-still and tried to ascertain where he was. 
A little off to the right was something, a vague 
black shape, that looked like a tree. He did 
not recall having seen it when he made the trip 
in the daylight. Where was he? Oh, if 
mother was only there with him, or dad, they 
would know what to do, which way to go. 

But he wasn’t afraid! He mustn’t be 
afraid. Under his breath he whispered, 


236 


LIMP Y ” 


“Now I lay me,” and “ Our Father,” fearful 
of saying the words out loud lest he might at- 
tract the attention of some wandering night 
beast or goblin. Once more, drawing a long 
breath, he resolutely set forth, dragging along 
step by step, fearful of going forward, terri- 
fied to go back, more scared still to remain 
where he was. 

Suddenly, right beside him, almost in the 
path, some great animal arose and whirled to 
face him. He could see two great eyes glaring 
at him. It was so close that even in the dark- 
ness he could see it move. He could hear 
again that terrifying “ sniff, sniff,” he could 
almost feel its breath in his face. 

He stopped stock-still in sheer terror, his 
hands trembling so that he could hardly hold 
the pails. Through his fear-stricken brain 
just one thought kept running over and over 
again. “ I’m not a ’fraid-cat ! I’m not ! I’m 
not! ” 

Step by step he advanced toward the beast 
that stood facing him. Closer and closer he 
came to it until it seemed that if he took an- 
other step he would come up against it. With 
a grunt it wheeled and again seemed to rise in 
the air, then sped away in the darkness. 


“I’M NOT A ’FRAID-CAT!” 237 


Somewhat relieved by its disappearance, but 
still in the grip of terror, Eddie hobbled on and 
on. As he was climbing over the stile, he saw 
a light come bobbing across the fields. New 
terror smote him. The fantastic motions of 
the wavering light as it came nearer and nearer 
filled him with strange dread. What was it? 
Who was it? Perhaps it was a robber. He 
recalled with growing terror that the stile was 
hardly more than half-way to his uncle’s house. 
He still had a long journey through the dark- 
ness ahead of him. Once more he set out 
valiantly, carefully carrying both pails, watch- 
ing with growing apprehension the fantastic 
bobbing of the light as it came nearer and 
nearer. 

“ Is that you, Eddie? ” came his uncle’s voice 
out of the darkness. 

Never before had he heard such a welcome 
sound. A wave of relief, a feeling that all 
peril was past, swept over him. For a mo- 
ment he was too overcome to speak. 

“ Yes, it’s me,” he managed to whisper at 
last. 

“ Thought you was lost,” said Uncle John 
as he emerged from the darkness, carrying a 
lantern. 


238 


“ LIMP Y ” 


“ No,” explained the boy, still trembling 
from his fright, “ I fell and spilled the milk 
and had to go back and get some more.” 

“ That was it, was it? ” said his uncle. “ I 
thought maybe that bull calf in the next pas- 
ture had eaten you up.” 

“ Was that only a bull calf? ” exclaimed Ed- 
die in surprise. 

“ Sure, what did you think it was? ” 

“ I didn’t know,” Eddie confessed as he 
clutched one of his uncle’s hands, “ but I was 
awfully scared of it.” 

“ Pooh,” said his uncle, “ you need never be 
scared of a calf. They are just playful. 
None of the cows round here are cross.” 

“ I’m glad of that,” said the boy. 

A week later Eddie, safe home again, was 
recounting his adventures to his brothers : 
“ And over at the farm where we went for the 
milk, Joe — he’s one of the hired men, shot a 
great big hawk, and the same day they trapped 
a weasel, and Sam — he’s the other hired man 
— he skinned it and tacked the skin up on the 
barn-door, and that same day the bees 
swarmed. And that evening I stayed so long 
that it was pitch-dark when I went to go home, 
and I had to walk all by myself through three 


“I’M NOT A TRAXD-CAT! ” 239 


great big fields, and a great big bull calf was 
right there in the path — ” 

“ What did you do? ” asked Tom. 

“ I’ll bet you was scared to death,” said 
Dick. 

Vivid as are the terrors of childhood, the im- 
pression they make is not a lasting one, and, 
besides, it is not boy-nature to admit short- 
comings to other boys. With never a blush, 
Eddie continued his narrative almost boast- 
fully: “Pooh, I’m no ’fraid-cat. I just 
walked right up to it, and it turned and ran 
away.” 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 


A SATURDAY LESSON 

“Ty/FR. JONAS,” questioned Eddie, “ do 
ItI you like ice-cream? ” 

“Yes and no/’ replied the old man thought- 
fully. He knew that the boy was expecting 
an answer in the affirmative. No boy of ten 
can understand how any one could possibly not 
like ice-cream. Jonas was hesitating how to 
find an answer that would not hurt his little 
friend’s sensitive feelings. “ I can’t deny I 
like the taste of it right well but, you see, Ed- 
die, the coldness of it hurts my teeth something 
dreadful.” 

As he answered he was studying Eddie’s 
face, to see the effect of his reply. Life with 
one leg had made him understand how often 
youngsters like Eddie, maimed or deformed in 
any way, are apt to be morbid and over-sensi- 
tive. Not for the world would he have done 
or said anything to offend the one person in 
the world who thought enough of him to come 
to see him every day. The companionship of 


A SATURDAY LESSON 241 


the boy and the trust Eddie put in all his judg- 
ments were far too precious a possession to be 
endangered by any careless rejection of some 
proffered gift. From past experience he knew 
that Eddie liked to share with him whatever 
brought him pleasure. 

“ I like ice-cream/’ announced Eddie, “ and 
it doesn’t hurt my teeth a bit. If I eat it too 
fast though it gives me a funny pain right 
across my nose.” 

44 Yes,” said Jonas, nodding sagaciously, 
44 it’s apt to do just that.” 

44 What I was going to say,” Eddie con- 
tinued, 44 was that we are going to have ice- 
cream for our Sunday dinner and I’ll get 
mother to let me bring you some if you’d like 
it.” 

The old man, sitting before his little tobacco 
shop, brushed a suspicious moisture from his 
eyes and made pretense of lighting his pipe. 
When you are well past seventy and poor and 
crippled few persons — very few indeed — re- 
member to do kindly acts for you. The young- 
ster’s thoughtfulness for him touched him 
deeply. 

44 Well now, it’s mighty nice of you, Eddie, 
to think of me when you have ice-cream,” he 


242 


“ LIMPY ” 


exclaimed warmly, “ but I’ll have to take the 
will for the deed. I’d like the ice-cream all 
right but my teeth would ache afterward and 
it isn’t worth it.” 

“ No, I s’pose it isn’t.” 

“You see, Eddie, when you get as old as me 
you begin to figure on consequences. It’s dif- 
ferent with boys. They go ahead and do 
everything and eat everything and never 
think about what’s going to happen after- 
ward.” 

“ I guess that’s right. Tom and Richard 
and I out in Mr. S. T. Adams’s orchard one 
day ate a lot of green apples and we had awful 
pains afterward.” 

“ I’ll warrant you did,” chuckled old Jonas. 
“ That’s just the trouble with all boys — 
they’re so frog-minded.” 

“ I didn’t know frogs had any minds,” said 
Eddie, looking puzzled. 

“ I don’t suppose they have,” explained 
Jonas, “but that wasn’t what I meant. Boys 
are always jumping at things just like frogs, 
and never looking where it’ll land them.” 

“ I never jump,” protested Eddie plain- 
tively. “ I wish I could.” 

“Of course not,” assented the veteran, “ a 


A SATURDAY LESSON 243 


leg and a half ain’t much for jumping with, 
but I didn’t mean it that way. I meant jump- 
ing with your mind. I expect you’re just as 
frog-minded as most other boys.” 

“ But how can your mind jump? ” 

“ It’s this way — you see some green apples 
and your mind jumps and says, 4 Let’s eat 
them.’ If you didn’t let your mind jump it 
would be pretty sure to say, 4 Hold on here, 
green apples will give me a stomach ache,’ and 
then you wouldn’t eat them.” 

44 1 guess that’s right.” 

44 You bet it is. It’s being frog-minded that 
gets boys into most of their troubles. If they’d 
only stop to think instead of letting their minds 
jump they’d be far better off.” 

44 But,” asked Eddie, 44 how am I going to 
keep my mind from jumping? ” 

44 Tain’t so easy for a boy, nor for a man 
either,” said Jonas. 44 There’s only one way 
I know of.” 

44 What’s that? ” 

44 Whenever you think about doing anything, 
think twice.” 

44 Why that’s just like doing arithmetic,” 
said Eddie. 44 It sounds easy. I’m going to 
try it” 


244 


LIMPY ” 


“Good!” said Jonas. “Thinking twice 
never did any one any harm, but I’ll warrant 
you find it harder than doing your arithme- 
tic.” 

Eddie departed filled with resolves never 
again to let himself be frog-minded and for a 
day or two he got quite a lot of amusement out 
of trying to keep his mind from jumping and 
from thinking twice about everything he set 
out to do. He found the plan worked fairly 
well. He was up in his room with the treas- 
ures from his chest scattered all over the floor. 
Tom called to him to come out to the barn. 
He started to run right out, but thinking twice 
about it, he stopped to tidy up his room before 
answering his brother’s call. When he came 
in tired that evening he was glad the place was 
in order, for it was one of the inflexible rules of 
the house that each boy must put away all his 
playthings before going tQ bed. 

Another time Maggie, the cook, asked him 
to go on an errand right when he was in the 
middle of an exciting chapter of a new book 
from the library. “ Let Dick do it,” he started 
to say, but thinking twice about it, he closed his 
book promptly and went cheerfully on Mag- 
gie’s errand. After all she did so many kind 


A SATURDAY LESSON 245 


things for him that he felt it was his duty to 
help her all he could. At any rate the handful 
of cookies she gave him on his return was ample 
reward. 

He began to take self-conscious pride in his 
success in keeping his mind from jumping. 
He decided that his new scheme of life was 
making him a vastly better boy. He even con- 
fided to his mother as she came up-stairs to kiss 
him good-night that he never again was going 
to be frog-minded. 

“What on earth are you talking about? ” 
she asked, puzzled by the phrase, but he vol- 
unteered no further explanation, though he 
gave himself a mental pat on the back as he 
went asleep, feeling that he deserved great 
credit for the success with which he was carry- 
ing out his plan. 

But alas, for Eddie’s good resolves. As 
with most of us the unexpected occurrence all 
too frequently upsets our intentions to reform 
before they have had time to crystallize into 
persistent and continuing habits. Jarred by 
the unusual, we act on the spur of the moment, 
without taking time to think twice about it, 
and later we discover regretfully that we have 
been guilty of doing the very thing that we so 


246 “ LIMPY ” 

firmly had determined we never were going to 
do again. 

There came a Saturday morning — a morn- 
ing with nothing especial to do — the kind of a 
morning that nearly always drives energetic 
boys into some sort of mischief. Bob Tucker 
and F our-eyed Smith came racing by the house 
as the three Randall boys idled on the front 
porch. 

“ Come on, fellers,” cried Bob excitedly, 
“ come on along and see it.” 

“ Come on, come on,” panted Four-eyed 
Smith, striving vainly to run as fast as the 
Tucker boy. 

“ Where are you going? ” asked Tom. 

“What is it? What’s going on?” asked 
Dick, already scrambling to his feet. 

“ Come along and see,” cried the vanishing 
Bob. “ I can’t stop to tell you.” 

Tom, too, was on his feet by now and even 
Eddie, putting aside- the book he was reading, 
began awkwardly to get to his feet, wondering 
what it was that had excited the boys so. 

“ It’s a railroad wreck, a terrible wreck — 
down back of the station,” called Four-eyed 
over his shoulder. 

Before the words were fairly out of his 


A SATURDAY LESSON 247 


mouth Tom and Richard were at his heels, and, 
newer in the race and less short of breath, 
quickly were outdistancing him. 

A thrill came to Eddie, too, at the wonder- 
ful opportunity. A railroad wreck ! He had 
read of wrecks but never had he seen one. 
Never before so far as he knew had there ever 
been one in the vicinity. He just must see 
what it looked like. He might never have an- 
other opportunity of seeing a wreck. His 
vivid imagination began picturing the two loco- 
motives coming together with whistles blow- 
ing and bells ringing. It must be a grand 
sight. 

He started to run after the others — no, he 
didn’t run. He couldn’t. For him to run 
with his weak leg and its heavy brace was a 
perilous impossibility. He tried it for a few 
futile steps and then settled down to the fast- 
est gait that was possible for him, a method of 
progress that may best be described as a hasty 
hobble. 

As he limped breathlessly after the others he 
was still continuing to picture to himself the 
horrors of a wreck. He was wondering how 
it would look to see a row of passenger-cars all 
upside down and smashed, with some of them 


248 


“ LIMP Y ” 


burning. He could see in his imagination the 
passengers scrambling out of the cars. He 
could hear their shrieks. Some of them might 
be lying there dead or senseless. It must be 
a wonderful sight to see and maybe there would 
be an opportunity for him to help rescue some- 
body or to bind up a wound and save some 
lady’s life. 

Then the distressing thought came that it 
might be all over before he got there. Tom 
and Richard and the other boys would get there 
in time to see everything and he might be too 
late. 

“Wait — wait for me!” he shrieked after 
his vanishing brothers. “Wait for me!” 

They gave no indication that they had heard 
him, but kept on running until they were out 
of sight. 

“ Please wait for me! ” he called again with 
a plaintive sob in his throat. Several times he 
had to stop to get his breath and to check the 
sharp little pain that came in his side. Yet 
despairingly he kept on, his active mind busy 
with many things but never once recalling what 
was Dad’s firmest injunction: 

“ Never go near the railroad tracks! ” 

Time and time again Mr. Randall had 


A SATURDAY LESSON 249 


warned all three of the boys of the perils of 
playing about the railroad. In winter-time 
some of the boys when they were making sleds 
were in the habit of pilfering from box cars the 
wooden bars used when the doors are open. 
Such pieces of seasoned oak stood high in favor 
for making sled runners. Mr. Randall had 
sternly denounced this practise as nothing less 
than stealing and had even gone so far as to 
forbid Tom and Richard from riding on Frog- 
gie Sweeney’s sled built of railroad mate- 
rial. 

“ But,” Tom had asked at the time, “ there’s 
nothing wrong, is there, in walking the rails 
when there are no trains coming? All the fel- 
lows do it.” 

One of the favorite competitive amusements 
of the boys of the town was to see how many 
rails they could walk without once stepping 
off. 

“ Lots of boys have been killed and injured 
doing that very thing,” said Mr. Randall. “ I 
forbid all you boys ever doing it. I want you 
to stay away from the railroad tracks alto- 
gether.” 

“ Can’t we even make scissors? ” asked Dick. 
“ You don’t have to go on the tracks at all to 


250 


“ LIMPY ” 


do that. You just lay your pins on the track 
and wait until after the train has passed over 
them.” 

“ No,” said Mr. Randall, “ you must not do 
that either. I want each of you to promise me 
that you will never play on or near the tracks. 
Promise me, Tom.” 

“ I promise,” said Tom. 

“ I promise,” said Richard. 

Eddie felt at the time that the lecture had 
not been aimed at him for he never even had 
wanted to play on the tracks, still, just to be 
on a par with the others, lie,, too, had said: 

“ I promise.” 

This injunction of their father’s was a sore 
point with Tom and Richard. Nearly all the 
other boys of their acquaintance had escaped 
without any such orders. The other fellows 
had all sorts of coins flattened by trains pass- 
ing over them and pins mashed flat into funny- 
looking little daggers and crossed pins pressed 
into “ scissors.” Froggie Sweeney even had 
a pair of “ scissors ” made from two horse-shoe 
nails. 

But none of all this came into Eddie’s mind 
at the moment. He was obsessed with the de- 
sire of seeing a railroad wreck. The only thing 


A SATURDAY LESSON 251 


that was worrying him was that it might be all 
over before he got there. 

He felt somewhat relieved as he came within 
sight of the tracks to observe a crowd standing 
there. There must still be something to see. 
He tried to hurry as he started to cross the 
tracks of the freight yard and stumbling on a 
rail fell full length, scratching his hands on the 
ballast and tearing his trousers across the knee. 
A man who was passing called out to know if he 
was hurt. 

“ No sir,” he answered as he scrambled to his 
feet. “ I’m not hurt. I’m used to falling.” 

In his eagerness to reach the scene of the 
accident he hardly realized that his hands were 
cut and bleeding. When at last he had 
wormed his way through the crowd and reached 
the front row where the other boys had long 
since arrived his first sensation was one of great 
disappointment. There was nothing much to 
see after all. 

It had been only a freight wreck. One box 
car with its end smashed and one of its trucks 
twisted around lay on its side near where it 
had been derailed. The locomotive that nad 
done the damage had disappeared. No one, 
apparently, had been killed or injured. All 


252 


LIMPY ” 


there was to be seen was a gang of laborers re- 
pairing the track where the collision had taken 
place. Quickly the men who had been at- 
tracted to the scene began to withdraw. Soon 
only a group of boys was left and for perhaps 
half an hour they stood around waiting for 
something more to happen. At last it hap- 
pened. The yard-master, up to his neck in 
work as a result of the mishap, came by. 

“ What are you youngsters doing here? ” he 
called out in angry tones. “ Get out of here, 
every one of you! ” 

Sullenly but hastily the boys, recognizing his 
authority in the matter, split up into little 
groups and started to leave. Eddie and his 
brothers and the other two boys started across 
the tracks in the direction of home. 

“ He’s got his nerve chasing us out when we 
weren’t doing anything,” commented Bob 
Tucker resentfully. 

“ A wreck ain’t such a much after all,” said 
Four-eyed Smith, voicing the disappointment 
all of them had experienced at finding so little 
to be excited about. 

Tom was silent, gloomily hoping that his 
father would not hear that they had disobeyed 
his explicit orders. He was mentally trying 


A SATURDAY LESSON 253 


to excuse himself on the ground that a wreck 
made an exceptional case but his conscience 
would not be stilled by any such argument. 

J ust as they reached and crossed the last of 
the tracks in safety a long freight train came 
backing slowly down to pick up some cars. 

“ Gee, if we only had some pins it would be 
a dandy chance to make some scissors,” sug- 
gested Dick. 

“ Wouldn’t it? ” assented Tom. 

“ But Dad has forbidden our doing it,” re- 
monstrated Eddie. All of a sudden his 
father’s many injunctions about playing on the 
railroad tracks had popped into his mind. He 
was feeling very wretched and miserable and 
guilty about it. He wanted to get away from 
there and get home as fast as he could. 

“ Aw, shut up, Limpy,” commanded Tom 
savagely, not caring to have his already 
troubled conscience stimulated by any such re- 
minders from his youngest brother. “ It 
would be no worse than what you’ve been do- 
ing. Who’s got any pins? ” 

Eddie, hurt by his brother’s gruffness, sensi- 
tive always about having either of his brothers 
speak of him as “ Limpy,” grew red and was 
silent. 


254 


“ LIMPY ” 


“ You’re a nice one to be talking about us,” 
added Richard. “ You are in it just as deep 
as we are. What are you doing here any- 
how? ” 

Even at this added rebuke Eddie held his 
peace. What was he doing here? If only he 
had remembered to think twice — if he had not 
been so frog-minded — if he hadn’t jumped 
and hurried to see the wreck, he would have 
recalled his promise. He felt so ashamed and 
so sorry. He had broken his promise to Dad. 
What right had he to reprove his brothers? 
He was equally guilty with them. 

None of them had been able to find any pins. 
The train had stopped, coupled on the extra 
cars and had begun to move slowly out of the 
yard. To Tom, standing sullenly beside the 
track, came a new idea. He had arrived at 
the age when he felt he was too big to be bossed 
by his father. He resented Eddie’s having 
reminded him before the other boys that he 
was not allowed to play on the tracks. He felt 
that he must do something, something new, 
something daring, to regain prestige in their 
eyes. 

“ Dare you to jump on the next car,” he 
challenged Bob Tucker. 


A SATURDAY LESSON 255 


Bob looked rather dubiously at the passing 
train of freight cars. It was something he 
never had tried and he, too, had had his orders 
from home about playing on the tracks. But 
the code of boyhood forbade his taking a 
dare. 

“ I dare if you dare,” he retorted. 

“ Come on then,” cried the reckless Tom, 
who had not anticipated that his dare would be 
taken in earnest and now felt that it was up 
to him to make good. 

Making a running leap, Tom managed to 
grasp the iron brace on the side of one of the 
cars and at the same time to get one foot on 
the iron step. Clinging there he turned half- 
way around to shout defiance at Bob Tucker. 

“ Oh, Tom, don’t,” shrieked Eddie, terrified 
at such temerity. 

Tucker started running alongside of the 
train and managed to land on the step of the 
car behind Tom with equal success. Not to 
be outdone by Tom he clambered up on to the 
car platform and stood there holding on with 
one hand and waving the other at Tom. 

Four-eyed Smith and Dick, envious of the 
daring of their leaders but not having courage 
enough to try to emulate them, began running 


256 


“ LIMPY ” 


alongside the train on the cinder path. Eddie 
stood silent, spellbound with terror. 

The train began to gather speed. Dick, 
running as fast as he could beside it found 
that he was losing ground. 

“ You’d better jump off,” he called out to 
Tom, “ she’s going like sixty.” 

Tom had already been trying to muster up 
his courage to get off. From where he clung 
the train seemed to be going at a terrific rate. 
He had begun to realize that getting off was 
going to be a far harder task than getting on 
had been. When he heard Dick’s warning he 
let himself down as far as he dared and let go. 
The momentum of the train whirled him over 
but fortunately he fell away from the track and 
quickly scrambled to his feet unhurt. 

As he fell he had a glimpse of Bob Tucker’s 
white frightened face. He had been just 
about to jump off when he saw Tom’s fall and 
it terrified him so that he let go of the car 
step while still holding on to the brace. For a 
second he clung there, swaying against the car, 
and then, unable to retain his hold any longer, 
slipped and fell right down on the ties, with 
one of his arms and one of his legs right under 
the car wheels. 


A SATURDAY LESSON 257 


There was one shrill scream of agonized 
pain and then a deathlike silence. Bob lay 
white and still, so close beside the rails that the 
passing cars all but grazed his head. 

“ Bob’s killed! Bob’s killed! ” 

It was Eddie’s frantic shouts that finally at- 
tracted the attention of the flagman on the last 
car and of the laborers at work near by. Some 
one ran for a doctor. What happened after- 
ward was all a daze so far as Eddie Randall 
was concerned. He recalled hearing a man’s 
voice saying: 

“ He’ll live — if you call it living with one 
hand and one leg gone.” 

Eddie must have fainted right after that. 
When, for days and nights afterward, he tried 
to think about it, he could not remember how 
he and Tom and Richard had gotten home. 
He did remember that his mother came run- 
ning down the street to meet them, gathering 
them all in her arms and hugging and kissing 
them in turn. She had heard about the acci- 
dent — somehow mothers always do hear it 
quickly when anything happens to a boy. 

Eddie’s shirt was all wet in front where some 
one had spilled water on him when he fainted. 
His hands, too, were all cut and bleeding where 


258 


“ LIMPY ” 


he had fallen on the tracks. At first his mother 
was fearful that he, too, had been injured. 
She began to weep hysterically. 

“ That’s only water,” Tom hastened to ex- 
plain. “ He fainted after it happened.” 

“ But his hands — ” 

“ He fell on the ballast and scratched him- 
self.” 

She was not satisfied until she had them all 
safe in the house and had looked them over 
from head to foot. They were all strangely 
silent and oppressed, awed by the morning’s 
tragedy. Finding them all unhurt she began 
to reproach them for having disobeyed their 
father, but her reproaches were cut short. 

Eddie, overwrought by what he had wit- 
nessed, began to sob and to shriek hysterically: 

“ Oh, mother, mother, I’ll never be frog- 
minded again. I’ll never be frog-minded 
again.” 

Alarmed at his outburst, failing utterly to 
understand what he was talking about, she be- 
gan to fear that the sight of the tragedy had 
been too much for his nerves and had perhaps 
affected his reason. Hurrying him up-stairs 
to bed she made him drink a glass of hot milk 
and sat with her arms around him comforting 


A SATURDAY LESSON 259 

him and soothing him until finally he fell 
asleep. 

When she came down-stairs again she found 
the other two boys still sitting silent and de- 
pressed in the dining room where she had left 
them. 

“ You boys both go up-stairs and go to bed 
and stay there all day,” she directed. She felt 
that they needed some sort of punishment, but 
she was in no mood to inflict it. She was too 
thankful that they had all come back to her 
safe and sound. What if it had been one of 
her darling boys who had lost a leg and an arm. 
How sorry she felt, too, for Mrs. Tucker. But 
she must send Tom and Richard to bed. 
Then, at last, she really felt they were safe. 
The boys, to her amazement, made no protest 
against her order, even though it was not yet 
noon. As a matter of fact they welcomed the 
idea. Anything was better just at present 
than having to face father when he came home 
to lunch. At the stairs she stopped them for 
a moment. 

“ Do either of you boys know what Eddie 
meant by being frog-minded? ” 

“ No,” said Tom. “ I’ve no idea what he 
meant.” 


260 


“ LIMPY ” 


“ He never said it to me,” added Dick. 

She was still puzzling about Eddie’s curious 
phrase when Mr. Randall came home. 

“ Please don’t punish the boys or say any- 
thing to them about it,” she urged him as they 
discussed the morning’s direful happenings. 
“ They were all very disobedient, I know, but 
I think they have been punished enough. Ed- 
die was all worked up about it and I have sent 
them all to bed for the day.” 

“ I guess they’ve all had a lesson,” said Mr. 
Randall; “ a lesson they’ll never forget.” 

“I’m sure they won’t,” said Mrs. Randall, 
“ but I wish I knew what Eddie meant.” 

“ Why, what did he say? ” 

“ He kept saying over and over again that he 
wasn’t going to be frog-minded any more.” 

“ That’s a funny phrase,” said her husband. 
“ Probably it meant something about that 
Sweeney boy. They call him Froggie, don’t 
they? ” * 

“ No,” said Mrs. Randall, “ I’m sure it 
wasn’t that. Froggie Sweeney wasn’t with 
them to-day. It had something to do with his 
going on the railroad tracks after you had for- 
bade him. I wish I knew.” 

But to this day she never has found out. 


A SATURDAY LESSON 261 


Only old Jonas knows. To him the next after- 
noon Eddie reaffirmed his pledge of his firm 
intention never to be frog-minded again. 

“ I’ll warrant you won’t,” said old Jonas, 
adding sagely: “ Sometimes the other fel- 
low’s licking learns us a lot.” 


CHAPTER TWELVE 


A HOUSE AND A HOME 

S OMETHING unusual and mysterious was 
happening in the Randall home. All 
three boys sensed it without being able to find 
out what it was. For a whole week dad and 
mother had been talking together in whispered 
conversations that ceased abruptly whenever 
one of their sons approached. Dad had gone 
about the house with his brows wrinkled in 
thought. Mrs. Randall seemed always to have 
a preoccupied air somewhat tinctured with 
sadness. 

Whenever Tom or Richard or even Eddie 
started to ask dad questions, mother would al- 
ways interrupt with: “ Run away, boys, and 
don’t bother father. He has something on his 
mind.” 

It was an entirely novel situation that con- 
fronted the youngsters. Hitherto dad had 
been to them, most of the time at least, a sort 
of extra playmate. Sometimes, it is true, he 


A HOUSE AND A HOME 263 


brought home papers with him from his law 
office. On such occasions it was a well-under- 
stood rule of the household that he was not to 
be interrupted nor bothered. But such occa- 
sions were rare and never lasted longer than one 
or two evenings. At such times most of the 
punishments were ordered by mother, dad being 
called upon only in extreme cases, and as it 
happened all three bo}^s for several days had 
been on their good behavior — or at least had 
not been detected in any unusual mischief. 
Yet somehow the conduct of both their parents 
gave them a premonition that something out of 
the ordinary was about to happen. 

“ It isn’t a case,” announced Dick positively. 
“ Dad hasn’t brought any papers home, and be- 
sides court doesn’t meet till next month.” 

“ It’s nothing we’ve done,” asserted Tom re- 
flectively. “ Whenever dad finds anything 
out, he gets right after us and has it over with.” 

“ No,” agreed Dick. “ He’s got nothing on 
us.” 

“ Maybe,” suggested Eddie, feeling very im- 
portant and honored at being admitted into the 
counsels of his elders, “ maybe, Tom, he’s try- 
ing to make up his mind to let you get a job.” 

“ Naw,” said Tom glQomily, “ you’re wrong 


264 “ LIMPY ” 

there, Limpy. He’d as soon let you go to 
work as he would me. I’ve talked to him 
dozens of times, and he only laughs at me.” 

The red of shame crept into Eddie’s cheeks as 
Tom in his preoccupation called him by the 
hated epithet. He resented, too, his oldest 
brother’s taking it for granted that he never 
would be able to work. Down in his heart he 
was confident that he could handle a job just 
as well as Tom could, and some day he was go- 
ing to show them all. Yet so sensitive was he 
about his lameness that even to his own brothers 
he never made any retort when they reminded 
him of it. 

“ Tell you what,” suggested Dick, “ I’ll bet 
he’s figuring if he can afford to send Eddie to 
New York to get his leg fixed. I heard him 
and mother talking about it once. Dad said it 
would cost more than he could afford.” 

“ Naw,” said Tom decisively, “ that’s not it. 
They gave up that idea long ago.” 

Once more Eddie colored up. He did wish 
people would not talk about his lameness in 
front of him. Mortified by the repeated refer- 
ences to “ it ” — the hideous, ever-present “ it ” 
that shadowed his life, that weighed constantly 
on his sensitive soul — he hobbled off to the 


A HOUSE AND A HOME 265 


porch where he settled himself in the hammock 
and began to read. From the living-room 
within he could hear his mother’s voice talking 
with a caller. He did not listen at first, but 
just as he was turning the page the caller’s 
words struck his ear. 

“ Then it’s really true? ” 

“ Yes,” his mother answered, “ it’s true, but 
Mr. Randall does not want anything said about 
it just yet. We haven’t even told the boys.” 

Eddie strained his ears to find out what it 
was all about. 

“ When? ” asked the visitor. 

“ The first of next month.” 

“ So soon? It seems too bad.” 

“ Yes, indeed,” sighed Mrs. Randall. “ I 
suppose it is all for the best, but I just hate the 
thought of it.” 

The caller departed, and Eddie lay back in 
the hammock, his book for once forgotten, pon- 
dering over the words he had overheard. In 
the unknown there is always anxiety. He 
wondered and wondered what they had been 
discussing. What was it that was going to 
happen on the first of the month that dad did 
not wish to talk about? It must be something 
that did not please his mother. She had said 


266 


“ LIMPY ” 


that she hated the thought of it. Vague fears 
began to fill his brain. lie wondered if it was 
anything that had to do with him. He won- 
dered if they were going to send him away any- 
where. He had read only the other day in the 
newspaper of a “ Home for Incurables.’’ Per- 
haps they had come to the conclusion that his 
leg was never going to be any better and were 
going to put him in some such place. 

No, he decided, it could not be that. Mother 
loved him. She never would let him go to a 
home for incurables, even if his leg did not get 
well. He racked his brain for other solutions 
of the mystery. It was beyond him. He 
thought of reporting the conversation to his 
brothers to see if they could make anything out 
of it, but something inside him warned him 
against any such procedure. He felt that it 
had not been quite honorable for him to listen 
to a conversation not intended for his ears. 
He felt sure it would be still less honorable for 
him to repeat what he had heard. He decided 
it would be best for him to tell mother about it 
when she came to kiss him good night. Yet at 
bedtime Mrs. Randall seemed to be so absorbed 
in her own thoughts that he did not find oppor- 
tunity. 


A HOUSE AND A HOME 267 

What was it that was going to happen? 
What was the dire thing in prospect on the first 
of the month that his mother just hated to 
think of. Eddie hardly slept all night long, 
it worried him so. 

Next morning at breakfast the mystery was 
cleared up. Dad sat down to the table looking 
entirely free from, worry and just like his old 
self. 

“ Boys,” he announced cheerily, “ I’ve some 
news for you. We’re going to move.” 

They looked at him in blank amazement. 
The idea was too novel, too stupendous, for 
them to grasp at once. In all their debating 
they never had given thought to such a possi- 
bility as this. 

“ What do you mean? ” asked Tom at length. 
“ Going to move into another house? ” 

People in the town where the Randalls lived 
were not in the habit of moving. Once the 
Wilsons had built a new house and had moved 
into it, leaving their former dwelling to a mar- 
ried son. Another time that Tom recalled a 
family had gone out West, and their old home 
had remained untenanted. Moving was some- 
thing wholly new and unfamiliar, and he was 
not quite sure he welcomed the idea. This was 


268 


“ LIMPY ” 


home. The three boys had been born in the 
house and always had lived there. 

“ No/’ his father explained, “ not just to an- 
other house. We’re going to move to another 
town — to the city, in fact.” 

There was a note of pride in his tone as he 
spoke. For years he had dreamed of this — 
of moving to the city, of a larger practice, of 
more opportunities, of greater advantages, and 
now it was to come true. 

“ Oh, great ! ” cried Richard. The soul of 
the adventurer was his. His affection for peo- 
ple and places was not so deep-rooted as in the 
others. He welcomed change of any sort. 

Eddie was silent. Into his eyes came great 
tears. He felt like crying. The prospect of 
leaving his home, of going off to a strange 
place, among people he did not know, of leav- 
ing forever the house, the barn, the school, did 
not appeal to him in the least. 

“ Why can’t we stay here? ” he stammered. 
“ I don’t want to move.” 

His mother’s arm reached out protectingly 
and encircled his shoulder. “ That’s just the 
way I feel about it, too, Eddie, dear,” she said. 
“ I wish we didn’t have to move.” 

“ But why do we? ” the boy persisted. 


A HOUSE AND A HOME 269 


“ It’s for father’s business,” Mrs. Randall 
hastened to explain. “ He has been offered 
the place as lawyer for a big insurance com- 
pany, and it means, Eddie, dear, that he is go- 
ing to make a lot more money, and now we 
can afford to have a big New York doctor ex- 
amine your leg and see if he can not do some- 
thing so that you will not be lame any more. 
Won’t that be nice? ” 

Eddie gulped down a sob. 44 Don’t move on 
my account,” he said plaintively. “ I don’t 
mind being lame — that is I don’t mind it very 
much.” 

44 It’s all settled,” announced Mr. Randall 
briskly. 44 We’re going to move on the first of 
the month. I’ll be very busy at the office get- 
ting things straightened up, so you boys can 
stay at home from school for the next few 
days and help mother and Maggie with the 
packing.” 

44 That’ll be fine ,” cried Tom. 

44 Great,” echoed Richard. 

Eddie alone was silent. He was sure that 
he abhorred the whole idea. He did not want 
to move. He did not want to stay home from 
school. Tom and Richard did not like their 
lessons, but he did. He had a perfect attend- 


270 


“ LIMPY ” 


ance record of which he was very proud, a 
record that contained only one blot — the time 
he had been suspended because he would not 
tell on some of the other boys. And besides 
there was “ The Prize ” ! One of the school 
directors had offered ten dollars in gold for the 
pupil who passed the best examination in 
American history. He had said little about it 
at home, but he had made up his mind to win it. 
What if he could not run like other boys? 
What if he was not any good in most of the 
games they played? There was nothing the 
matter with his head. He would show every- 
body that he could win at something. He had 
set his heart on this prize. And now, if they 
moved away, he would lose all chance of get- 
ting it. 

“ Do I have to stay home from school? ” he 
asked his mother, after Dad had gone to the of- 
fice. 

“ Why no, of course not,” his mother an- 
swered. “ I want Tom and Richard to help 
me, but you would not be able to help mother 
very much anyhow, so run along to school if 
you want to.” 

Little did busy Mrs. Randall realize that her 
way of putting it had cut Eddie to the heart. 


A HOUSE AND A HOME 271 


He knew he was not much use in running er- 
rands and beating carpets, but it hurt so to have 
even his mother speak of it in that way. 

Sorrowfully he set out for school, taking lit- 
tle interest in the jubilant and important air 
with which his brothers prepared to help in 
packing up. All the week he was as one aloof 
from the family, returning from school each 
day to find further evidence of a dismantled 
home. The carpets and rugs had been taken 
up, the piano had been crated, and all the con- 
tents of the attic sorted out. Tom and Rich- 
ard were jubilant over the discovery of great 
heaps of old clothing which their mother an- 
nounced were not worth taking away with 
them. 

“Can we sell ’em to the ragman?” asked 
Dick. 

“ Anything to get rid of them,” Mrs. Ran- 
dall answered. 

“ And can we keep the money? ” asked Tom. 

“ Yes, if you divide what you get with Ed- 
die,” had been her reply. 

The sorting out of the attic’s treasure-trove 
had been a source of much pleasure to Tom and 
Richard and the other boys of their acquaint- 


ance. 


272 


“ LIMP Y ” 


“ Tell you what/’ said Fatty Bullen, “ we’ll 
get a couple of bricks and wrap a lot of old 
rags about them and put them in the middle of 
each bag and that’ll make them weigh a lot 
heavier. I did that once and got lots and lots 
more money.” 

“ Great,” said Tom. 

“ Bully idea,” said Dick. 

“ That would be cheating,” objected Ed- 
die. 

“ No,” said Tom, “ the ragman ’d cheat us 
if he could. I’ve often heard mother say he 
was an old cheat anyhow.” 

“ Sure,” said Dick, “ he’d cheat us if he 
could.” 

“ You bet he would,” asserted Fatty. 
“ ’Tain’t cheating. All the fellers do it.” 

Eddie was unconvinced. He would have 
liked to ask his mother about it, but somehow it 
seemed almost like tattling. He decided to 
say nothing. 

“ Go on and do it if you want to,” he an- 
nounced, “ but I say it’s cheating. If you do, 
I’m not going to take any of the money.” 

“ You can do as you please about that,” re- 
torted Tom. 

“ You don’t have to take it if you don’t want 


A HOUSE AND A HOME 273 


to,” said Dick, already beginning to figure how 
much they would have if what the ragman paid 
them was divided by two instead of three. 

Their summary manner of eliminating him 
only added to Eddie’s burden. He had hoped 
that they would leave out the bricks and insist 
on his taking his share. Maybe he was wrong 
about it. Maybe it wasn’t cheating. Still he 
was not going to weaken. 

“ All right,” he announced, “ leave me out of 
it.” 

Despondently he left the boys and went off 
to see old Jonas. 

“ Mr. Jonas,” he asked, “ did you ever 
move? ” 

“ No,” the old one-legged shopkeeper re- 
plied. “ I can’t rightfully say that I have. 
That little house over there where I live is the 
house where I was born. Of course, when I 
was away soldiering, I did a lot of moving, liv- 
ing sometimes in barracks and sometimes in 
tents, but you’d hardly call that moving.” 

“ Our folks are going to move,” announced 
Eddie gloomily. 

“ You don’t say. Where they going to 
move to — to another part of town? ” 

“No, they’re going to move to the city.” 


274 


“ LIMPY ” 


“Well, now,” said Jonas, “that’s kind of 
nice, isn’t it? ” 

Like all persons who have spent their lives in 
smaller places, the city to him had a fascina- 
tion. Handicapped as he was with his wooden 
leg, with all his seventy years save the few he 
had served as a soldier spent in the same little 
town, seeing the same people every day, doing 
the same things every week, he often had medi- 
tated on life in larger places and had felt that 
he would like to participate in it. 

“ I don’t think it’s a bit nice. I was away 
for a whole week once at Aunt Carrie’s, and it 
isn’t a bit comfortable being anywhere else than 
home. Everything’s different when you’re 
away. And I won’t be able to come and see 
you any more, either.” 

“ I’ll miss you a lot,” the old man answered, 
his eyes dimming a little at the thought. The 
boy’s friendship was one of the few bright 
spots in his lonely life. He looked forward 
each day to the little fellow’s visit. “ But I 
don’t see how it can be helped. If your folks 
have made up their mind to go, that’s all there 
is to it.” 

“ But they never asked me whether I wanted 
to or not,” cried Eddie. “ Nobody cares any- 



For once old Jonas was at a loss to know how to comfort him. 

Page 275 . 




A HOUSE AND A HOME 275 


thing about what I like. I’m working for the 
history prize in school and I’ll lose that and 
everything.” 

For once old Jonas was at a loss to know 
how to comfort him. 

“ There, there, Eddie,” he said consolingly, 
“ maybe you’ll like the new place better’n you 
do this.” 

“ I won’t ! I know I won’t ! I couldn’t like 
it. It won’t be home.” 

“ I don’t see what can be done about it.” 

“ Well,” said Eddie desperately, “ I’m just 
not going to do it, that’s all. The rest of them 
can move if they want to. I’m not going to 
move; I’m going to stay right here at home.” 

A sudden solution of his new problem had 
come to him. So occupied was he with his idea 
that something of the morbidness with which he 
had looked on the preparations for moving left 
him. When the next afternoon mother in- 
formed him that it was time for him to pack 
up the things in his room, he set about the task 
cheerfully, and when he had gone upstairs, 
Mrs. Randall paused in her work to remark to 
Maggie : “ Eddie is getting used to the idea 

of moving, I guess. He seemed heart-broken 
at first.” 


276 


“ LIMPY ” 


“ Yes’m,” said Maggie, “ it don’t take boys 
long to get used to anything. It’s different 
with us folks.” 

If they could have read the thoughts of the 
morbid youngster on the floor above, they 
might not have been so confident about his 
change of mind. “ They none of them care 
about me,” Eddie was saying to himself. 
“ They never asked me whether I wanted to 
move or not. They none of them care whether 
I win the prize.” 

The more he sympathized with himself the 
more bitter he became. His packing did not 
take long and he wandered idly about the dis- 
mantled house, every one else too busy with 
final preparations to pay any attention to him. 
He passed from room to room, viewing the 
bareness of each with a sinking heart, and after 
several surreptitious visits to the kitchen was 
mysteriously missing for nearly half an hour. 

Shortly before noon mother called him up- 
stairs and bade him don his best suit, hardly 
waiting until he had put off his every-day 
clothes before she jammed them into a trunk. 

They had lunch standing up around a great 
dry-goods box, eating cold meat off wooden 
platters with their fingers, for all the dishes and 


A HOUSE AND A HOME 277 


knives and forks had been packed. Even 
while they were eating the men with the ex- 
press-wagon came to take the box and the 
trunks away. Most of the furniture had gone 
the day before. 

“ Our train goes at two-thirty,” Mrs. Ran- 
dall reminded the boys, “ so if you want to go 
to say good-by to any of your friends, you may 
do so, but be sure to be back here by a quarter 
of two.” 

Quickly Tom and Richard dashed off to- 
gether as usual, leaving Eddie behind them. 
He hobbled out of the house toward the barn, 
and then with a furtive glance to see that no 
one was observing him he passed around the 
back of the building. A quarter of two came. 
Tom and Richard dashed up the street, arriv- 
ing just a minute before their father, who had 
made a last visit to his office. The bags and 
bundles had all been assembled on the porch. 
Mrs. Randall came out of the house with her 
hat and coat on. 

“ Where’s Eddie? ” she asked. 

No one could recall having seen him for 
fully an hour. 

“ Run out to the barn and see if he is there,” 
Mr. Randall suggested to Richard. 


278 


LIMP Y ” 


Mrs. Randall reopened the door of the de- 
serted house and called his name aloud. 
There was no response. Dick came back and 
reported that there was no sign of him in the 
barn. 

“ Oh, dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Randall, “ the 
carriage will be here any minute to take us to 
the station. I wonder where he can be.” 

“ I expect he’s off saying good-by to that old 
Jonas he’s so fond of,” said Mr. Randall. 
“ Tom, you run down and see if he is there.” 

Meanwhile they waited and waited. The 
carriage came. Mr. Randall began looking at 
his watch. Mrs. Randall and Maggie rushed 
about the place, frantically calling Eddie’s 
name, running out every few minutes to see if 
Tom was coming up the street. 

“ We’ll have to start in three minutes if 
we’re going to make that train,” Mr. Randall 
announced just as Tom returned breathless. 

“ Old Jonas says he hasn’t seen him since 
yesterday,” he reported. 

Mrs. Randall gasped and turned white. 
“ Where can Eddie be? What can have hap- 
pened to him? ” she cried, recalling now for the 
first time how little attention she had paid to 
her lame son in the last few days. 


A HOUSE AND A HOME 279 


“ If he doesn’t turn up in the next two min- 
utes, we’ll go off without him,” announced her 
husband wrathfully. “ He knew what time 
the train went, and there’s no excuse for his not 
being here. Here, boys, you and Maggie get 
in and take these bags.” 

“ Something’s happened to Eddie,” asserted 
his mother in panic. “ He’s always on time.” 

“ Come, get in,” said Mr. Randall, looking 
at his watch for the twentieth time, “ we’ve got 
to start.” 

“ William Randall,” exclaimed his wife, “ if 
you think I’m going one step without Eddie, 
you’re much mistaken. I’m going to wait - 
right here till I find out what’s happened to 
him.” 

“ We’ll all miss the train,” stormed Mr. 
Randall. 

“ The rest of you go on,” said his wife. 

“ Give me two of the tickets, and I’ll come 
when I find Eddie.” 

So that was the way they settled it. There 
was hardly time for good-by kisses for the 
other two boys. Off the carriage started. 

“ When you find him,” Mr. Randall called 
out, “ telegraph what train you are coming on, 
and I’ll meet you.” 


280 


“ LIMPY ” 


Left to herself on the porch of the empty 
house, Mrs. Randall debated what she should 
do first. She tried to make herself believe that 
Eddie had lingered somewhere in the neighbor- 
hood and hesitated about leaving the house lest 
he should return and find every one gone. 
Fortunately, in the hurry of departure the keys 
had been left with her. She unlocked the front 
door, and leaving it open went from room to 
room, peering into every corner and calling 
Eddie’s name. At last, satisfied that he could 
be nowhere in the house, she locked the door 
again. She made a hasty inspection of the 
yard, the barn, the porches. Nowhere was 
there a sign of Eddie. 

Her fears now began to be more acute. 
She ran to the next-door neighbor’s and called 
for help, excitedly telling of Eddie’s mysterious 
disappearance. Soon almost every one in the 
town knew that Eddie Randall was missing 
and was helping in the search. Even the con- 
stable was notified and put up a notice in the 
post-office. Not until darkness fell could Mrs. 
Randall be persuaded to give up her frantic 
search and go to a neighbor’s house for rest and 
refreshment, even then the only argument that 
had prevailed with her having been the advice 


A HOUSE AND A HOME 281 


that she must keep up her strength to aid in 
the search. Nor would she consent to leave 
the house until she had been promised that some 
one would stay on watch on the porch in case 
Eddie should come home. 

Meanwhile, where was Eddie? 

When he left the house at noon that day, 
he had a well- formulated plan in his mind. 
Growing more and more grieved and morbid 
at the idea of leaving home, of giving up all 
chance of winning the history prize, he had de- 
liberately decided to remain behind. Two 
days before, he had selected a hiding-place, the 
old dry-goods box at the end of the garden 
which had once been the home of the rabbits. 
He was going to stay there in hiding until after 
the family had gone, and then he would go and 
live with old Jonas. He had said nothing to 
Jonas about it, but he was sure the old man 
would take him in, and then he would keep on 
going to school and would get the prize — it 
would be awarded next week — and then — 
well, then, while he had not looked that far 
ahead, he was sort of picturing a triumphal 
return to the bosom of the family that had 
neglected to consult his wishes about moving. 
He just could see himself displaying that ten- 


282 


“ LIMPY 


dollar gold-piece, and wouldn’t Tom and Rich- 
ard be jealous of him? Let them move if they 
wanted to. 

As a precaution against hunger and thirst he 
had smuggled out of the kitchen a bottle of 
milk, a loaf of bread, some butter, an old 
kitchen-knife, and some ginger cookies. These 
he had hidden safely under a pile of dried grass 
in the rabbit-pen. 

Dressed in his best, he had slipped away from 
the house and crawled into the pen, carefully 
covering himself with the heap of grass. 

How long he had been hiding he had no idea. 
From time to time he heard voices calling him. 
He listened with amusement when he heard 
Tom and Richard, but by and by at the sound 
of his mother’s voice, a sense of desolation and 
loneliness came over him. It was all he could 
do to refrain from answering her. Still, if he 
did, he would have to move away and would 
forever lose the prize. He snuggled still far- 
ther into the dried grass and kept still. By 
and by, when all was quiet, he ventured to eat 
some of the cookies. Fie tried to drink the 
milk, but it had soured. He became thirstier 
and thirstier. The bits of grass tickled him. 
His feet went to sleep. He grew more and 


A HOUSE AND A HOME 283 


more uncomfortable. He began to doubt the 
wisdom of his course. He wanted his mother. 
He began to cry softly, and then he fell asleep. 

It was hours afterward when he awoke with 
a start. It was pitch dark, and at first he could 
not think where he was or what had happened. 
Then he remembered. He scrambled hastily 
out of his hiding place and emerged from the 
rabbit-pen. Trembling with fear in the dark- 
ness, his first thought had been to run to the 
house, but as he looked toward it and saw it 
looming up, a dark unfamiliar shape, he re- 
membered that there was nobody there, that 
they had moved away, all of them — all but 
him. 

In the sense of utter desolation that came 
over him he wanted to shriek aloud, but he did 
not dare. Where was he to go? What could 
he do? Like a ray of light in the darkness 
came the thought of old Jonas. At least he 
hadn’t moved away. With fearful feet he 
stumbled through the deserted garden and out 
to the sidewalk and hobbled as fast as he could 
down toward the tracks where the tobacco-shop 
was. The streets were deserted, most of the 
searchers having gone home for supper. 
There were lights still in some of the windows, 


284 


“ LIMPY ” 


but to the terrified youngster it seemed as if it 
must be late, very late, maybe midnight. As 
he hobbled along the street, a new panic seized 
him. What if Jonas wasn’t at his shop? 
What if he had gone home to bed? He was 
not sure he could find the house in the dark. 
And maybe, too, he would not be able to arouse 
Jonas. 

“ If mother was only here! ” he kept saying 
over and over again to himself. 

As he approached the tobacco-shop, he saw 
with delight that the door stood open and a 
light shone forth. He tried to run, but 
stumbled and fell. By the time he got to his 
feet the light had gone out and he could just 
see dimly the form of old Jonas locking up his 
shop for the night. 

“ Oh, Mr. Jonas! ” he managed to shriek and 
then toppled over again as he tried once more 
to run. 

Fortunately his friend had heard him and 
came hobbling toward him as fast as his wooden 
leg would let him. 

“ Why, Eddie,” he exclaimed, “ where have 
you been? The whole town has been hunting 
you.” 

“ I didn’t want to move,” sobbed Eddie, 


A HOUSE AND A HOME 285 


clutching Jonas’ hand with a sigh of relief, 
“ and I went and hid in the rabbit-pen and I 
fell asleep and when I woke up all my folks 
were gone away.” 

“ No, your mother wouldn’t go without you. 
She’s still here,” announced Jonas. 

“ Where is she? ” 

“You come right here in the shop and lie 
down,” said old Jonas, “ and I’ll get her here 
pretty quick.” 

Unlocking the shop -door and lighting up, 
he made Eddie lie down on a bench there and 
despatched a passing boy for Mrs. Randall. 
While they awaited her arrival, Eddie told the 
whole story, how he did not want to move, 
and how his heart was set on winning the his- 
tory prize. 

“ And did you tell your mother about the 
prize?” asked Jonas. 

“ No-o, not exactly,” said Eddie, “ I wanted 
to surprise her.” 

“ Well, then, you see,” explained Jonas, “ it 
was all your own fault. Even mothers can’t 
always read what’s going on in a boy’s mind. 
If your mother’d known about that prize, I’ll 
bet she’d have found a way. Mothers gener- 
ally do.” 


286 


“ LIMPY ” 


“ Yes,” admitted Eddie, “ they do.” 

“ And I guess you’ve learned by now,” ad- 
monished old Jonas, “ since you’ve looked at 
that empty dark building where you used to 
live that a boy’s home is something more than 
just a house.” 

“ You bet,” said Eddie, as he turned to greet 
his mother, “ home’s where mother is.” 

It was late the next afternoon when Mr. 
Randall met his wife at the train. 

“ Where’s Eddie? ” he asked in amazement. 

“ I left him behind with old Jonas,” she an- 
swered smilingly. “ He’s going to school a 
week longer to win the history prize.” 

“ Didn’t he want to come home with you? ” 
asked Mr. Randall incredulously. 

“ Yes and no,” said Mrs. Randall, borrow- 
ing one of Jonas’ pet phrases and smiling hap- 
pily to herself at the thought that at any rate 
she and Eddie understood. 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 


IN A STRANGE LAND 

T HE brakeman thrust his head in the door 
and bawled something utterly unintelligi- 
ble. A small lame boy, all alone in a car seat, 
once more consulted a crumpled schedule and 
strained his eyes trying to ascertain the name 
printed on the station at which the train had 
stopped. 

Edward Haverford Randall was making his 
first train journey and making it all alone. 
The boy was tired, for he had been up since 
five o’clock in the morning and it had been an 
eventful day. After a hasty breakfast in the 
cottage old Jonas had insisted on accompany- 
ing him to the station to see him safely on the 
train. 

“ Mr. Jonas,” Eddie had asked as they ap- 
proached the station, “ do you suppose the boys 
in the city’ll call me ‘ Limpy ’ as they do 
here? ” 

“ They’re apt to do just that,” the old man 


288 


“ LIMP Y 


replied, shaking his head sadly. “ Boys is 
boys everywhere, not given to caring much 
about hurting people’s feelings.” 

“Well, I don’t mind — much,” answered 
Eddie bravely. 

“ That’s the way to take it,” said his friend 
approvingly. “ Let them call you anything 
they’ve a mind to. You just up and show 
them you’re not lame in the head, even if you’ve 
only a leg and a half.” 

“ That’s just what I’m going to do,” an- 
nounced Eddie with a brave air of determina- 
tion. 

So all the way on the long train trip, as he 
looked out of the window, as he watched the 
other passengers, as he listened to the brake- 
man calling the stations, as he ate the luncheon 
old Jonas had provided, all the time he kept 
trying to think of ways and means of demon- 
strating to the new boys he was soon to meet 
that he wasn’t lame in the head. It was not 
that Eddie had any unreasonable desire to 
show off. It is as much a part of boy nature 
as it is of manhood ambition, to wish to excel. 
Every boy likes to be best at something. On 
Eddie’s limited horizon there seemed to be so 
little in which there was any likelihood of his 


IN A STRANGE LAND 289 


excelling. To be sure he was better at his 
studies than either of his older brothers, Tom 
and Richard. He could beat both of them — 
and even Dad, sometimes — at checkers. Yet 
somehow these were not the sort of things that 
boys appreciated, though it was here that Ed- 
die’s accomplishments ended. He could not 
run nor jump nor swim nor climb, nor do any 
of the things that boys cared most about. 

What was there for him to do in order to 
show these new boys? It seemed almost a 
hopeless task. He felt himself becoming more 
and more discouraged at the prospect. He 
resolutely set his jaw. He must not give up. 
He must find some way. He must do some- 
thing. What should it be? 

Once more the train stopped. The after- 
noon was waning. He evidently was ap- 
proaching his destination. Anxiously he 
studied the schedule, reading for the fiftieth 
time the list of stations to make sure that he 
knew where the train had stopped. The next 
station must be where he got off. A sudden 
feeling of fear smote him. What if there 
should be no one there to meet him? He would 
not know where to go. With a queer sinking 
of the heart he realized that he did not know 


290 


“ LIMPY 55 


where his home was now. Old Jonas had said 
that he would send a telegram after the train 
started, but suppose something had happened ! 
Suppose old Jonas forgot, or the telegram had 
not been delivered! They would not even 
know he was coming. 

As the train stopped in the terminal station 
he clambered down the steps, looking anxiously 
about, utterly bewildered by the noise and con- 
fusion, and feeling very much alone. It was 
his mother who spied him first and as he heard 
her joyous cry of greeting he saw with glad 
eyes the little group gathered to welcome him 
— Mother and Dad, his two brothers, and even 
Maggie. A moment later he was clasped in 
his mother's arms and was the target for a 
volley of questions : 

“How’s Mother’s precious?” 

“ Well, young man, how did you stand the 
trip? ” 

“ Weren’t you afraid, coming all by your- 
self?” 

“ Bless the boy, did he have something to 
eat? ” — this from Maggie, ever mindful of his 
physical welfare. 

“ Say, Eddie, did you win that ten dollars? ” 

It was his brother Richard of course who 


IN A STRANGE LAND 291 


asked the latter question. Already he was de- 
vising plans for helping Eddie spend the 
money. 

From his arrival, until he went to bed at 
nine, life was a wonderful round of excite- 
ment. It was not a carriage that they entered 
outside the station but a taxicab, with a register 
that kept clicking off dimes every few blocks. 
The house at which it finally stopped — Ed- 
die’s new home, — looked very odd to him. It 
had no yard about it at all. It was 
one of a row of neat brick houses that to 
Eddie’s small-town eye looked exactly alike. 
Within the house, too, there were many fea- 
tures novel to him to be explored and in the 
rear there was a yard, a tiny bit of a yard, sur- 
rounded by a high board fence, and a clothes 
horse with arms that folded up. In the bath- 
room there was a shower bath which Tom and 
Richard hastened to demonstrate to Eddie’s 
wondering eye, and in the dining-room and the 
living-room were all sorts of interesting but- 
tons, by which you could turn the electric lights 
on in sections. 

Of course, too, he had to inspect the room he 
was to occupy, — his room. His first sensa- 
tion was one of disappointment. It was not 


292 


“ LIMPY ” 


nearly as large as the one he formerly occu- 
pied, and it was up on the third floor, away 
from Mother’s room. Tom and Richard, to 
be sure, were located across the hall, just as 
formerly, but Eddie as he looked doubtfully 
about him was not quite sure that he could ever 
feel at home in the place. Even the sight of 
his chest with all his treasures waiting for him 
to unpack them did not wholly alleviate the 
feeling of abhorrence for liis new quarters that 
he felt creeping over him. 

“ Do you like your new room, Eddie dear? ” 
asked his mother anxiously. 

“ Yes, mother,” he answered without enthu- 
siasm, and Mrs. Randall turned away satisfied, 
never dreaming of the wave of mental revolt 
against his new surroundings that was en- 
gulfing her son. It is boy habit, even in cases 
where there is as strong a bond as that which 
existed between Eddie and his mother, for a 
boy to keep to himself his innermost feelings. 
“ Yes,” from a youngster means little. It is 
the easiest answer to make. Experience has 
taught him that it is the least bothersome way 
to avoid further questions. He says “ Yes ” 
and goes on thinking his own thoughts, fearful 
of revealing them lest he be laughed at. 


IN A STRANGE LAND 


293 


Thus it happened that it was not until he 
went to bed that night that he and mother 
really had a confidential chat. As she mas- 
saged his aching leg he told her all about his 
week with old Jonas, of how he had won the 
history prize and what the teacher had said. 
This time when she asked him: “Are you 
sure you like your new room? ” he told her the 
truth about it. He confessed to her that he 
did not like being so far away from her, and 
that it was too small, and that there was noth- 
ing to see from the window but houses, and 
that he didn’t think he ever would be able to 
get used to it or to get to sleep in it. 

“ That’s just the way I felt about it at first, 
Eddie,” his mother said consolingly. “ It did 
not seem a bit like our dear old home and I 
felt I never could get accustomed to these tiny 
rooms.” 

“ I wish we could all move home again,” 
said her son plaintively. “Can’t we?” 

“ Wait a week,” said Mrs. Randall cheerily, 
“ and you’ll be surprised how quickly you 
become accustomed to it. Besides as soon 
as you start to school you’ll be too busy to 
bother.” 

“ How soon do I have to start to school? ” 


294 


“ LIMPY ” 


“ Next Monday, of course. Don’t you 
want to go?” asked Mrs. Randall in amaze- 
ment. Eddie had always been the one of her 
three boys who liked school. 

“ I don’t know.” 

Mrs. Randall was much puzzled by his man- 
ner. She felt that there was something 
bothering him, yet she was too wise a mother 
to ask the question direct. After they had 
talked for five minutes more the trouble was 
revealed. 

“ Mother,” asked Eddie anxiously,” do you 
s’pose the boys here will call me ‘ Limpy ’? ” 

“ Why, no, of course they won’t,” she said 
without hesitation, speaking against probabil- 
ity as her mother heart suddenly compre- 
hended the dread with which her little boy was 
looking forward to the ordeal of meeting and 
making the acquaintance with a horde of new 
boys, unthinking youngsters who would sear 
his sensitive soul by talking to him about his 
deformity. 

“ Don’t worry about it at all,” she comforted 
him. “ Mother knows it will be all right.” 

Thus reassured, Eddie kissed her good- 
night and almost before she was out of the 
room was sound asleep. 


IN A STRANGE LAND 295 


Mrs. Randall hastened down-stairs to her 
husband. 

• “ Do you know what has been bothering that 
poor little chap all evening? ” she exclaimed. 
“ He has been worrying his heart out for fear 
the boys here will call him ‘ Limpy.’ ” 

“ Very likely they will,” said Mr. Randall. 

“ Well, I’m just not going to have it, that’s 
all,” she announced wrathfully. “I’m going 
to write a letter to the principal this very night 
telling him he must forbid the boys calling my 
Eddie names.” 

“ Don’t do anything foolish,” cautioned her 
husband. “ That would only make matters 
worse. It would put the notion in the heads 
of a lot of boys who never had thought of it 
before.” 

“ Rut I must do something.” 

“ What can you do? Better let a boy fight 
his own battles.” 

“ You don’t want your son called ‘ Limpy ’ 
and eating his heart out in grief because of it, 
do you? ” 

“ Oh, pooh,” said Mr. Randall, turning 
again to his evening paper, “ nicknames don’t 
harm a boy. Mixing with other boys is the 
best education a youngster can have. It fits 


296 


41 LIMPY” 


him for the knocks he gets in after-life. You 
make too much of a mama’s boy out of Eddie 
as it is.” 

“ William Randall,” exclaimed his wife in- 
dignantly, “ I don’t think you know a thing 
about boys, even if you were one yourself.” 

Mr. Randall laughed. 

“ Go ahead and write your letter. If you 
do the other boys may not call him 4 Limpy,’ 
but it will be 4 Mama’s pet ’ or something 
worse, you’ll find. I know boys.” 

Even though she could not quite agree with 
her husband’s view, Mrs. Randall did not write 
the note, but when Monday morning came she 
made ready to accompany Eddie to school, 
with the full intention of explaining to the 
principal in person how sensitive her son was 
about his lameness. To her amazement Ed- 
die himself firmly vetoed her going with 
him. 

44 There’s no need for your going,” he an- 
nounced. 44 Tom and Richard’ll show me 
where the principal’s room is.” 

44 But — but — I want to tell him about 
your studies.” 

44 I’ve got all my last term’s report cards,” 
announced Eddie calmly, 44 and besides the 


IN A STRANGE LAND 297 


boys would guy a big fellow like me if he came 
to school with his mother.” 

That settled it. Eddie went off with his 
brothers and his mother had a little weeping 
spell. Nor were her tears all for Eddie. She 
was weeping mostly for herself, from the lone- 
liness of the mother suddenly brought to the 
realization that her baby is no longer hers, that 
he, without her knowing it, has become a “ big 
fellow,” not nearly so dependent on her as she 
had thought him. Eddie — her youngest — 
her baby — a big fellow — she could not real- 
ize it, and yet as she swallowed back the tears 
she felt that henceforth she must. 

Brave as was the front Eddie kept up be- 
fore his mother as he hobbled off with Tom and 
Richard, it was with a sinking heart that he 
approached the school building. The struc- 
ture was much larger than the school in his 
home town and he was certain he never would 
be able to find his way around in it. Every- 
thing looked so different and strange. Per- 
haps they would put him in a room away up on 
the third floor where he would have two flights 
of stairs to climb, and that was hard work for 
him. Maybe, too, they would insist on his 
taking “ physical exercise,” from which he 


298 


“ LIMPY ” 


hitherto had always been excused on account 
of his lameness. He began to wish Mother 
was along to explain all these things for him. 

As they entered the school gate his brothers 
deserted him. 

“ That’s Professor Hilder’s room there, the 
first one on the left,” explained Tom. 

“ Old Plilder’s getting bald and wears 
specs,” added Richard. 

Bewildered at being left alone, for he had 
expected that his brothers at least would in- 
troduce him to the principal, Eddie timidly 
entered the building, striving to hide his limp 
as he went up the steps. At the main door he 
paused and peered timidly within. Perhaps 
he might be able to find the place. There 
right in front of liim stood a door invitingly 
open on which was “ Office of the Principal.” 
Still he stood hesitating. He dreaded to go 
in alone. He hoped that some one would 
come along and go into the room and then he 
could follow them. N o one came by. He 
heard the five-minute bell ring and mustered 
up his courage and entered. A pleasant- 
faced man with spectacles was sitting at a desk 
examining some papers. He did not look up 
at first and Eddie stood silently in front of 


IN A STRANGE LAND 299 


his desk not knowing just what to do and get- 
ting all trembly as he waited. 

“ Well, my boy,” said the principal at 
length, “ what is it? ” 

Eddie tried to speak. His mouth seemed 
suddenly to dry up. The words he tried to 
say sank away back in his throat and choked 
him. He began to tremble more violently and 
the terrible fear came over him that he was 
going to disgrace himself by crying, though 
what he would be crying for he could not tell. 

“ What is your name? ” asked Professor 
Hilder. 

“ Ed — Ed — Eddie Randall,” he managed 
to say. He had pictured himself as announc- 
ing his full name but somehow he could not 
enunciate it. 

“ Oh,” said the principal, “ you’re a new 
pupil, a brother of those boys who entered last 
week, are you? ” 

Eddie nodded mutely and extended his re- 
port cards, managing to gain a little better 
control of himself as the principal examined 
the documents. 

“ H-m, h-m,” said Professor Hilder, “ good, 
very good. Let me see, I think we will start 
you in 5 A” 


300 


“ LIMP Y ” 


A wave of joy swept over the youngster at 
the announcement, obliterating all other emo- 
tions for the moment. Even in his confusion 
he realized he was receiving promotion far be- 
yond his dreams. He was skipping two whole 
grades. At home he had been in 4B. 

“ That’ll be fine,” he said with enthusiasm, 
speaking for the first time in his natural 
tones. 

A minute later he found himself in one of 
the rooms on the main floor, being introduced 
to his new teacher. 

“ Miss Armstrong,” said Professor Hilder, 
“ I have brought you a new pupil, Edward 
Randall, who comes to us with very good re- 
ports. He is to be excused from physical ex- 
ercise.” 

Miss Armstrong, a plump young woman 
with a pleasant smile, greeted Eddie cordially, 
showed him a hook where he was to keep his 
cap, and guided him to his seat. 

“ I will not ask you to join any of the classes 
to-day,” she said. “ I think you will like it 
better if you just sit here and watch how we 
do things and get acquainted.” 

“ That’ll be fine,” said Eddie. Already he 
was beginning to be sure that he was going to 


IN A STRANGE LAND 301 


like both principal and teacher. Professor 
ITilder had promoted him and had excused him 
from physical exercise without being asked 
and Miss Armstrong seemed to have read his 
thoughts in not calling on him to join his 
classes just yet. 

With attentive eyes and ears he listened to 
all that went on and studied the difference in 
methods and observed his classmates. He 
soon decided that he would have no difficulty 
in keeping up with the others and turned his 
attention to studying the other boys who were 
also studying him. He felt glad that he was 
sitting down so that they would not notice his 
lameness. As he became accustomed to his 
surroundings his self-possession returned. 
He decided he was going to like his new school 
as much as he had the other one. 

Almost before he realized it the session was 
over and he had taken his place in line to march 
out of the room. 

“ How’d you hurt your leg? ” whispered the 
boy with whom he was mated. 

“ I didn’t,” answered Eddie calmly, “ it 
grew that way.” 

Eddie himself could not understand it. 
The reference to his lameness, about which he 


302 


LIMPY ” 


ordinarily had been so sensitive, this time had 
not embarrassed him in the least. 

“ Gee, that’s tough,” said the other boy sym- 
pathetically. 

“ Aw, I don’t mind it,” replied Eddie. 
“ The other kids call me 6 Limpy ’ but I don’t 
care.” 

“ They call me c Four-eyed,’ ” announced 
the other, who wore glasses. 

“ Why,” exclaimed Eddie delightedly, “ I 
know a kid at home we called the same name 
— Four-eyed Smith.” 

“ My name’s McCollough — they call me 
Four-eyed Mac,” said his new acquaintance. 

“ And I’m Limpy Randall — my real 
name’s Eddie — Edward Haverford Ran- 
dall.” 

Outside the building their ways separated. 

“ So long, Limpy, see you ’s afternoon,” 
called out the McCollough boy. 

“ So long, Four-eyed,” cried Eddie as he 
hastened home to relate to his anxious mother 
the events of the morning while he ate his 
luncheon. 

“ And did any of the boys call you 
‘ Limpy ’? ” she inquired anxiously after Tom 
and Richard had left the table. 


IN A STRANGE LAND 303 


“ Sure,” said Eddie, carelessly, to her great 
bewilderment, “ I told them to call me that. 
All the fellows have nicknames.” 

Puzzled beyond words by this new attitude 
of her youngest toward his infirmity, Mrs. 
Randall continued her questions. She wanted 
to know if he had had any difficulty in getting 
excused from physical exercise. 

“ No,” said Eddie, offering no details, “ I 
fixed that all right,” going on to tell how he 
had skipped two whole grades, and hurrying 
away to school again before half his mother’s 
questions had been answered. 

“ I guess William is right,” she said to her- 
self thoughtfully, as she watched Eddie until 
he was out of sight. “ I don’t believe I do 
understand boys. Here I was all worked up 
for fear the other boys would call him 4 Limpy ’ 
and he comes home and calmly tells me that 
he has told them to call him that. It beats 
me.” 

Meanwhile Eddie at school was having new 
and interesting experiences. At the after- 
noon session he took part in all the classes, ac- 
quitting himself creditably in spite of the fact 
that he had not studied a single one of the 
lessons. An hour before the session ended 


304 


“ LIMP Y ” 


Miss Armstrong made a novel announcement. 

“ Boys,” she said, “ the girls in Miss Rider’s 
room — 5 A — think they are better spellers 
than you are. They have challenged you to a 
spelling match. It is to take place in the As- 
sembly Room. You will march in there 
quietly and take your places along the west 
wall. Whenever one of you misses a word he 
will have to sit down. When one of the girls 
misses she will sit down. The room that has 
the most still in line at four o’clock will be the 
winner.” 

A spelling match was a novelty to Eddie. 
They did not have them in the school he for- 
merly had attended. As the other pupils took 
their places in line to. march into the Assembly 
Room he still sat in his place wondering 
whether or not he was expected to take part in 
it. Miss Armstrong noticed his hesitation. 

“ Randall,” she said, “ as this is your first 
day here you may be excused — ” then observ- 
ing the look of disappointment that flashed 
across his face she added quickly, “ that is, un- 
less you want to take part. I see you have 
very good reports in spelling.” 

“ I think I’d like it very much,” said Eddie 
getting up quickly to march in with the others. 


IN A STRANGE LAND 305 


In the Assembly Room he found that as be- 
came a new arrival he had a place down near 
the end of the line. He was glad of that. It 
would give him time to collect his thoughts and 
to observe what the others did before he was 
called upon to spell any words. After they 
had all taken their places, the girls from Miss 
Rider’s room in one aisle and the boys from 
Miss Armstrong’s classes in the aisle opposite, 
facing them. Professor Hilder came in and 
began giving out words, first to a boy and then 
to a girl and so on down the line. If a boy 
missed a word the next boy in the line had a 
chance to spell it. If he failed, the word was 
put to the girls’ line. 

Eddie found it exceedingly interesting and 
exciting. The words thus far given out had 
a familiar sound and he was certain they were 
from the same spelling book they had used in 
his old school. This gave him no small feel- 
ing of satisfaction, for he was certain that he 
could spell correctly every word it contained. 

At first there were very few misses. Pro- 
fessor Hilder seemed to be selecting the words 
from the front part of the book where all the 
pupils were on familiar territory. With his 
face flushed from the excitement Eddie 


306 


“ LIMPY” 


eagerly awaited his turn. The boy next to 
him went down on 44 cemetery,” putting in two 
44 m’s.” Eddie spelled it correctly and soon 
the head of the line was reached again. The 
principal now turned to the back of the book 
and began skipping around and the list of 
casualties rapidly increased. Two girls and 
two boys got flustered over 44 gerrymander.” 
They tried to spell it with a 44 j,” with one 
44 r,” with an 44 i ” instead of a 44 y,” with two 
44 m’s ” — every way but the right way, until 
at last Eddie’s new friend, 44 Four-eyed Mac ” 
saved the day for the boys by getting it cor- 
rect. 

One by one they were falling out now on 
both sides. Eleven words had come to Eddie 
and each of them he had spelled correctly with- 
out any hesitation. The lines were fast grow- 
ing shorter and Eddie, as his unsuccessful 
mates took their seats, found himself moving 
step by step up nearer the head. Soon there 
were left only four of the girls and three of the 
boys. Two of the girls and one of the boys 
went down on 44 renaissance.” On the boys’ 
side there were left now only 44 Four-eyed 
Mac ” and Eddie. The girls’ side was still 
headed by a petite vision in blue with golden 


IN A STRANGE LAND 307 


brown curls and brown eyes and pretty red 
lips — Diana Wallace her name was, Eddie 
had learned from the whispered conversation 
about him. Thus far she had spelled every 
word correctly as had Nellie Curtis, a slender 
dark elf with snapping black eyes, who stood 
beside her. 

Eddie, looking across the aisle at his op- 
ponents, found himself wishing that Diana 
would win. She was ever and ever so much 
prettier than the other little girl, he decided, 
prettier even than little Floribel Finch. As 
each new word was put to Nellie Curtis he be- 
gan hoping that she would fail on it so that 
only Diana would be left. For a long time 
Nellie seemed invincible but at last his wish 
came true. 

“ Rhetorician, 5 ’ enunciated Professor Hil- 
der. 

“ R-e-t-o-r-i-c-i-a-n 55 spelled the Curtis girl 
confidently. 

“ Wrong,” said Professor Hilder, “ Mc- 
Collough — rhetorician.” 

He was giving out the words turn about, 
first to a girl and then to a boy, now that there 
were left only the four of them. Nellie 
Curtis, striving hard to keep back the tears, 


308 


“ LIMPY ” 


reluctantly took her seat and “ Four-eyed 
Mac ” with a triumphant glance in her direc- 
tion essayed the word. 

He made the fatal error of trying to give it 
two “ t’s ” and a second later Eddie and Diana 
Wallace faced each other, sole surviving 
champions of their rooms. 

A wave of exultation swept over Eddie. 
He had been hoping vainly for an opportunity 
to demonstrate to these new boys that he 
wasn’t lame in the head. He had promised 
old Jonas that he would do it somehow. All 
unsought his great opportunity had come. 
Already he had spelled down every boy in the 
room. It only remained to vanquish the girl 
opposite. He felt that his victory was as- 
sured. As the contest went on he had been 
gaining in self-assurance. He felt certain 
that he could outspell any girl that lived. 
Sooner or later she would trip on some word 
and then he would be the winner. 

He shot a triumphant glance across the aisle 
at his opponent and had a change of heart. A 
wavering doubt crept into his mind. Maybe 
it would be nicer to let her win. Probably she 
was just as eager as he to be the victor. Per- 
haps she might cry if she didn’t win. He de- 


IN A STRANGE LAND 309 


cided that he would not like to make her cry. 
Still he wanted so much to win himself. He 
just had to show the new boys that he 
amounted to something even if he was lame. 
He must win! Think how proud Mother 
would be of him if he did and what fun it 
would be to write to old Jonas and tell him 
about it! 

Meanwhile, as the conflict raged within him, 
he kept mechanically spelling the words Pro- 
fessor Hilder was giving out — ten words, 
twenty words, thirty words, and still neither 
of them had missed. The principal paused 
and looked at his watch. 

“ It is nearly four o’clock,” he said, “ per- 
haps we had better call it a draw.” 

“ Please go on,” called out one of the girls. 

“ Yes, yes, go on,” cried all the pupils. 

Both sides of the room were tense with ex- 
citement as boys and girls, aroused by the 
spirit of contest, eagerly awaited the outcome. 
Once more he began giving out words. Eddie 
was getting tired standing. His lame leg was 
aching but he hardly minded it at all so eager 
was his interest and so confident was he of his 
ability to win. 

And yet — did he want to? He stole an- 


310 


“ LIMPY ” 


other look at Diana Wallace’s eager, sparkling 
eyes, at her red cheeks, at her pretty curls — 

“ Randall,” said Professor Hilder, “ side- 
real.” 

Eddie hesitated. He looked across the 
aisle again at Diana’s flushed eager face. A 
sudden resolution seized him. 

“ S-i-d-i-r-e-a-1,” he spelled almost defiantly. 

Professor Hilder paused as if tempted to 
give him another trial. Miss Armstrong gave 
a little gasp of disappointment. 

“ Wrong,” said the principal, “ Diana, can 
you spell it? ” 

“ S-i-d-e-r-e-a-1,” spelled Diana, bubbling 
over with happiness as she realized that vic- 
tory was hers. 

A moment later they were both surrounded 
by their mates, congratulating them on their 
achievement. With mingled feelings of re- 
gret and complacency Eddie listened to the 
plaudits of his teacher and the boys, even 
though it was evident that there was a shade 
of disappointment in their congratulations, 
that they felt he had betrayed them in the last 
ditch after so nearly carrying their flag to 
victory. Yet in the midst of it all he found 
sweet satisfaction in the knowledge that it was 


IN A STRANGE LAND 311 

Diana Wallace who had defeated him. He 
joyed in his secret that he could have won 
if he had wished to, and most of all was the 
sweetly consoling glance Diana gave him as 
she passed him on the way to her room. 

And Eddie’s father, happening a few min- 
utes later to pass the school building, stood 
stock still in astonishment, as a mob of small 
boys poured forth, headed by a spectacled 
youngster, and all shouting at the top of their 
voices as they reached the school yard: 

“ Hurrah for Limpy Randall.” 

From the cheering throng as he watched, his 
youngest son emerged with face flushed and 
hair tousled, and spying his father, hobbled 
over to join him and walk home with him. 

“ Oh, Dad,” he cried out joyfully,” we had 
a spelling match, our room and Miss Rider’s, 
the boys against the girls, and I won almost. 
Four-eyed Mac and I — we spelled all the 
other fellows down and then there was only 
me left and a girl on the other side and she 
won.” 

“ Bully for you,” said Mr. Randall enthu- 
siastically, “ but don’t you mind these new 
boys calling you Limpy? ” 

“ Pooh,” said Eddie, “ what do I care for 


812 “ LIMPY ” 

that? All the fellows in our bunch have nick- 
names.” 

And Mr. Randall smiled understanding^, 
realizing that as Eddie grew older it was be- 
ginning to dawn on him that a boy with a lame 
leg isn’t so much different from other boys 
after all. 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN 


FOR VALUE RECEIVED 

T HE three Randall boys had gone to bed. 

Their parents were seated in the living- 
room with the windows all wide open, for it 
was one of those warm autumn evenings when 
summer’s heat seems to be making one last des- 
perate struggle to survive. All up and down 
the street outside their neighbors, in shirt- 
waists and shirt-sleeves, were trying to keep 
cool out on the stoops of the houses, a city 
habit the Randalls had not yet acquired. 

All of them still missed the big wide porch 
of their village home that had been their fav- 
orite idling place. Sitting out on the stoop 
where all the neighbors could overhear what 
you were talking about unless you were careful 
to lower your voice seemed to them too shame- 
lessly public and the evening, after the boys 
had gone to bed, was really the only time that 
Mr. and Mrs. Randall ever had for confiden- 
tial talks. 


314 


“ LIMP Y ” 


“ There’s something I’ve been wanting to 
ask you,” began Mrs. Randall. 

Her husband caught the worried note in her 
tone and looked up at her perplexedly. He 
knew that she still pined for the associations 
and friends of their former home and won- 
dered if it could be that she was dissatisfied. 
More than likely though, he decided, she had 
discovered some new mischief on the part of 
the boys. „ 

“ What is it? ” he asked. 

“ It’s about Eddie,” said his wife hesitat- 
ingly. 

“ Oh, is that all? ” he answered with a feel- 
ing of relief. “ What about him?” 

“ About his lameness.” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Randall, “ what about it? 
It’s not getting any worse. He’s getting 
along splendidly now since he has discovered 
that it does not pay him to mope about it. He 
doesn’t mind now even when the boys call him 
‘ Limpy.’ ” 

“ He doesn’t seem to care,” protested the 
boy’s mother, “but I know he feels just as 
badly about it as ever, but I was not thinking 
about that. I was thinking about our prom- 


FOR VALUE RECEIVED 315 


“ Our promise! ” exclaimed Mr. Randall in 
surprise. “ I do not recall making any prom- 
ise.” 

“ Don’t you remember we told him — when 
he did not want to move to the city — at least 
I told him, that the reason we were coming 
here was so that you could earn money enough 
that we could afford to have a surgeon operate 
on his leg.” 

“ Oh, he’s forgotten all about that by now. 
He hasn’t said anything about it, has he? ” 

“ No,” admitted Mrs. Randall, “ he hasn’t. 
But I know he hasn’t forgotten.” 

“ Well then, what of it? ” 

“ How soon do you think we can afford 
it?” 

“Not for a long time yet. Moving here 
cost us quite a lot and I had my new office to 
furnish up. We had to get a lot of things for 
the house, too. Living here costs us more 
than it did formerly, and besides you’ll have 
to get yourself a lot of new duds this fall.” 

“ I don’t want any new gowns,” said Mrs. 
Randall almost fiercely, “ I’d far rather 
have Eddie cured than anything else in the 
world.” 

“ There, there,” said her husband soothingly, 


310 “ LIMPY ” 

“ we’ll get around to it sooner or later. Just 
be patient.” 

“ It’s hard to be patient,” sighed Mrs. Ran- 
dall. “ I know Eddie far better than you do. 
I know how sensitive he is. While he does not 
say much even to me I know how much he 
suffers from his lameness and how he misses 
not being able to do things other boys do and 
how he hates to have people talk about his 
limping.” 

“ Well,” said her husband, firmly, “ I 
haven’t the money now and I will not be able 
to spare it this fall and that is all there is to 
it.” 

When he spoke in that tone his wife had 
learned from experience that there was little 
use in talking further with him. If she at- 
tempted to argue with him he would only be- 
come more stubborn. She tried to solace her- 
self with the hope that Eddie had forgotten 
about her promise. She dreaded his asking 
her about it and wondered how best she could 
explain to him. From her other sons she 
learned that all the boys at school called their 
brother “ Limpy ” most of the time. 

“ He don’t seem to mind it as much as he 
used to, though,” said Tom. 


FOR VALUE RECEIVED 317 


“ I should say not,” added Richard, “ but 
he ought to be good and used to it by now. 
He’s always been called that.” 

She would have liked to question Eddie him- 
self but somehow he seemed to be growing 
away from her. His bed-time confidences now 
were by no means as detailed as they formerly 
had been. 

“ If we don’t do something pretty soon,” 
she said to herself in desperation, “ Eddie will 
be too old. His bones will be getting hard- 
ened up and it will be too late for any opera- 
tion to be successful.” 

Each day she tried to muster up courage to 
broach the subject to her husband, yet day by 
day went by without her having done so. 
Then one evening her husband came home with 
a sparkle in his eye and told her he had good 
news of some sort to impart. She forbore to 
ask him what it was until after the boys had 
gone to bed. After she came downstairs after 
kissing them good-night, Mr. Randall opened 
up the conversation. 

“ Whom do you think came to my office to- 
day to see me?” he asked. 

“ I have no idea. Who was it? ” 

“ Mr. Henry Wallace.” 


318 


“ LIMPY ” 


“ I do not think I ever heard you mention 
him. Who is he?” 

“ He’s the father of that little girl that was 
in the spelling match with Eddie, the one 
whom he nearly spelled down.” 

“ Is that so? What did he want?” asked 
Mrs. Randall, now vastly more interested as 
she found that her husband’s story apparently 
involved one of her boys rather than busi- 
ness. 

“ It’s a funny story,” Mr. Randall went on. 
“You see on that day Diana Wallace went 
home and told how she had won the spelling 
match from a new boy at school, a little lame 
boy named Randall. The curious part of it 
was she insisted to her parents that he had let 
her win on purpose. She said she just knew 
our Eddie could have spelled the word he went 
down on and that she could tell from the way 
he looked that he did it on purpose.” 

“ The darling! ” cried Mrs. Randall enthu- 
siastically. “ Isn’t that just like him? What 
a gallant little gentleman he is, and he never 
said a word to me about it.” 

“ That’s not all. Diana’s uncle happened 
to be visiting at their house. He’s Dr. Ral- 
ston Wallace, the great New York surgeon, 


FOR VALUE RECEIVED 319 


— the man who has done such wonderful 
things for crippled youngsters. When Diana 
said the boy was lame he got interested at once. 
He said to his brother, 4 A boy that shows such 
a fine spirit as that ought not to have to go 
through life lame. When I get back to New 
York in about ten days you tell that boy’s 
people to send him on to my new hospital and 
it won’t cost them a cent.” 

4 4 Oh, isn’t that wonderful, simply wonder- 
ful ! ” cried Mrs. Randall, the tears of joy well- 
ing up in her eyes. 

44 It was nice of him,” said Mr. Randall. 
44 1 thanked him but of course I told him we 
could not think of accepting the offer. We’re 
not charity patients yet.” 

44 William Randall, you don’t mean to tell 
me you let your foolish pride stand in the way 
of your little son’s being cured. Oh, Wil- 
liam, how could you? You didnt refuse Mr. 
Wallace’s offer? ” 

44 1 did,” he admitted rather shamefacedly, 
44 but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. He 
said he was coming in again to see me about it 
tomorrow.” 

44 You mustn’t refuse. You can’t,” cried 
his wife. 44 Don’t you see it isn’t charity? 


320 


“ LIMP Y ” 


It’s for value received. Eddie earned it him- 
self by being so kind and chivalrous to that 
little girl. Don’t you see that he did? Ed- 
die’s earned it. He must have his chance to be 
cured. He must. He must ! JJ 

“ I hadn’t thought of looking at it that way,” 
said Mr. Randall, as eager as she for his little 
son’s cure despite his masculine way of con- 
cealing his real feelings, and welcoming any 
excuse that would enable him to accept the 
generous offer without appearing to be a re- 
cipient of charity. “ I’ll see Mr. Wallace 
again to-morrow.” 

“ And you will let Eddie go to New York, 
to the hospital?” 

“ I suppose I must, if that is the way you 
feel about it.” 

“ Oh, I’m so glad, so very glad.” 

“ But,” protested Mr. Randall, “ if we do ac- 
cept you must not let the boys know anything 
about the arrangement.” 

Mrs. Randall’s face showed her disappoint- 
ment. 

“ Can’t I even tell Eddie? He won’t tell, 
and I’d like him to know what a wonderful 
reward his kind action brought to him.” 

“ Not even Eddie,” insisted Mr. Randall, 


FOR VALUE RECEIVED 321 


“ I don’t want the boys to realize yet that their 
father is a failure.” 

“ Oh, William,” cried his wife, “ you mustn’t 
feel that way about it. You’re just the best 
husband and the best father that ever lived. 
And I won’t tell a soul. So long as Eddie 
gets cured, that’s all that I care.” 

As a matter of fact Mr. Randall felt just 
as badly as she did about Eddie’s lameness. 
It was only that men have a different way from 
women of showing it when they feel sympathy 
for any one. Any kindness toward others — 
even a kindly thought — a man generally seeks 
to hide under a gruff manner. Time and time 
again Mr. Randall in the privacy of his office 
had counted up his resources, trying to figure 
how to stretch his income to make it cover the 
expense of a specialist’s treatment for Eddie. 
Sometimes he had even contemplated borrow- 
ing the amount he would need on his life in- 
surance.- The thought that had always de- 
terred him was that after all Eddie was only 
one of three. He had a duty to the others 
and to their mother. If anything should hap- 
pen to him, if he should become ill or disabled, 
or should die, there would be little enough left 
for them even with his insurance. 


322 


“ LIMPY ” 


His heart, too, had leaped at the wonderful 
opportunity of getting treatment for Eddie, 
even though his pride at first forbade his ac- 
cepting it. He was far more pleased than 
he pretended that his wife’s ingenious argu- 
ment would permit him to accept the doctor’s 
offer without feeling that he was taking char- 
ity. 

“ I guess the boy has earned it,” he said to 
himself. “ He has always been a good little 
kid.” 

When, the next day, Mr. Wallace reap- 
peared' in his office, he already had made up 
his mind to accept even if his visitor had not 
brought with him a telegram from his master- 
ful surgeon brother, which read: 

“Passing through next Friday returning to New 
York. Have Randall boy at station. Will take him 
back with me. 

“ Ralston Wallace.” 

Friday! And to-day was Wednesday. 
This time it was Mrs. Randall who could 
hardly make up her mind to let the boy go. 
She had always pictured herself as sitting by 
Eddie’s bedside when the time came for his 
operation. She never had thought of the 
possibility that Eddie might have to go 


FOR VALUE RECEIVED 323 


through the operation alone, away from her. 

“ The doctor told his brother,” Mr. Randall 
observed as they discussed Eddie’s journey, 
“ that Eddie would have to remain in the hospi- 
tal from six weeks to two months. You can 
go on and bring him home when he is able to 
travel.” 

“ But,” protested Mrs. Randall, “ I want to 
go with him. I want to be there.” 

“ I don’t see how we can afford it — that is, 
two trips — and if you went on and stayed 
there two months it would still be too expen- 
sive.” 

“ Of course I could not do that,” she ad- 
mitted sadly. Anxious as her mother heart 
was for her youngest she realized that there 
was little need for her to accompany Eddie. 
Dr. Wallace would see that he arrived safely. 
Besides she would be needed at home to look 
after the other two boys — and their father, 
too. It would be much better to make the 
trip later to bring Eddie home. 

“ You don’t suppose,” she asked tearfully, 
“ that there is any danger of Eddie’s not sur- 
viving the operation, do you? ” 

“ Oh, pooh, don’t be silly,” her husband an- 
swered. “ It’s a tedious treatment rather than 


324 “ LIMPY ” 

a dangerous one. The operation is quite 
simple.” 

‘ But the ether — I’m afraid of his heart.” 

“ There’s nothing the matter with his heart,” 
her husband answered. “ His heart’s as 
strong as anybody’s. All that is the matter 
with him is his lame leg.” 

So four days later Eddie, all by himself, lay 
in a little white cot in a pleasant room in a 
great new hospital building. The operation 
was over. His leg, now all swathed in a cast 
of plaster, had been elevated and hung sus- 
pended by cords that ran to pulleys in the ceil- 
ing, so that no movement would bring about a 
displacement. 

Just what had happened to him he could not 
clearly recall. He remembered that there had 
been a lot of nurses in funny-looking clothes 
standing around. It was not in this room but 
in another room where he had undressed and 
had climbed up on a high iron table located 
right under a big skylight. Dr. Wallace and 
his assistant had come in wearing the same 
funny looking clothes that the nurses had on. 
The doctor had jSut on long rubber gloves. 
One of the nurses had taken a sponge with a 
paper cone over it and had held it to his nose. 


FOR VALUE RECEIVED 325 


He had been told to inhale and when he did 
there was the funniest sicky smell. There had 
been a succession of fleeting, wonderful dreams 
— what they were about he could not remem- 
ber — and then he had found himself there 
on the cot all strapped up, feeling very weak 
and sick. 

“ Will I be lame now? ” was the first ques- 
tion he had asked his nurse. 

It was a terrible disappointment to him 
when Miss Fay — she was his own particular 
day-nurse — explained to him that not until 
weeks later, until after they had taken the 
plaster cast off his leg, would the doctor be 
able to determine whether or not the operation 
had been successful. 

Waiting day after day without knowing 
was hard work. Yet after the first day or 
two, when he had become accustomed to hav- 
ing his leg suspended, and had regained some 
of his strength, he really began to enjoy him- 
self. So many things happened in a hospital 
and it was all so different from things at home. 
Besides, every one was so nice to him. 

In the morning when ne awoke there was 
always the incident of the night-nurse going 
off duty and Miss Fay coming on. The night 


326 


“ LIMPY ” 


nurse was nice but he liked Miss Fay better 
and always welcomed her reappearance. 
After his face had been washed breakfast was 
brought to him on a little white tray. At first 
Miss Fay had to feed him but he soon learned 
how to eat lying down. Each morning, too, 
there was always Dr. Wallace’s visit to look 
forward to. Before he would realize it it was 
luncheon time. In the afternoon the ward 
surgeon, Dr. Henderson, always dropped in. 
Every day there came a letter from Mother 
and also an occasional one from Dad or one of 
his brothers. Once in a while a bouquet of 
flowers arrived bearing a card, “ With Diana 
Wallace’s compliments.” He wondered and 
wondered how she could send the flowers all 
the way from home and still have them so fresh 
and fragrant on their arrival, never suspecting 
that it was really Diana’s doctor uncle who 
was doing it. The doctor was a great believer 
in keeping his patients cheerful and had dis- 
covered the value of bouquets for that pur- 
pose. 

By and by as he grew stronger he made the 
acquaintance of some of the other nurses on 
the floor, Miss Wilson, Miss Edgar, and Miss 
Jones. He liked them all and all of them 


FOR VALUE RECEIVED 327 

made quite a fuss over him. When they were 
not too busy or were off duty they got into the 
habit of dropping in to read to him or to play 
checkers with him. From them he heard 
about his neighbors — about the little girl in 
Room 26 who had been born with club-feet, 
and how Dr. Wallace had straightened them 
out so that now she could walk as well as any 
one else. There was a little boy there, too, 
who had been run over by an automobile and 
had lost both his feet. There were other chil- 
dren with great humps on their backs — scores 
of other little patients, all of them, it seemed to 
Eddie, far worse off than he ever had been. 
When he heard about some of the others it 
made him feel much ashamed that he had ever 
resented being called “ Limpy.” He never 
before had realized how much worse condi- 
tions there were than being a little bit lame in 
one leg. 

“ And lots of the children,” said Miss Fay 
as he confided his feelings to her, “ are 
orphans. They have neither father nor 
mother to look out for them.” 

“ I guess that's the worst of all,” said Ed- 
die thoughtfully. “ I am glad I have mine.” 

One day there came a surprise package. It 


828 


“ LIMPY ” 


was all done up in brown paper and tied with 
coarse twine. The address was written in a 
cramped, shaky hand. Eddie turned it over 
and over, wondering what it contained and who 
could have sent it. At last he had Miss Fay 
open it for him. There, inside a cigar-box, was 
a wonderful wooden chain of eight links, all 
carved out of one piece of wood. 

The minute Eddie laid eyes on it he rec- 
ognized the work at once. 

“ Why, it’s from Mr. Jonas! ” he exclaimed 
delightedly. 

“ Who’s Mr. Jonas? ” asked Miss Fay curi- 
ously. 

He told her all about the old one-legged man 
and what wonderful chums they were and how 
once, when the family moved, he had stayed 
for a whole week with Jonas. 

The third week he found that by twisting 
himself around a little in the bed he could 
write on a pad with a lead pencil. After that 
he conducted a voluminous correspondence. 
He wrote to his Mother, to Dad, to his broth- 
ers, to little Diana Wallace to thank her for 
the flowers, and several times he wrote to old 
Jonas, telling him all about life in the hospi- 
tal. 


FOR VALUE RECEIVED 329 


One morning he heard Dr. Wallace say to 
Miss Fay: 

“ To-morrow I’m going to take off the 
plaster.” 

After the doctor had gone out of the room 
he lay silent and still for a long time, a ques- 
tion trembling on his lips that he hardly dared 
to ask. 

“Will he know then? ” he asked at length. 

“ Know what, Eddie dear? ” said Miss Fay. 

He gulped once or twice before he could put 
the question into words. It was such an all- 
important question. 

“ Whether I’m going to be lame any more.” 

“ We hope so,” the nurse replied. “ We all 
hope so.” 

All that afternoon and evening he had little 
to say and the nurses that night among them- 
selves had quite a discussion as to how he would 
take the news if the doctor told him that his 
lame leg was to be all right. 

“ Of course,” said Miss Fay Cautiously, 
“ there is always the possibility of the operation 
being a failure. The muscles may not read- 
just themselves to the new conditions properly. 
I think Eddie’s heart will be just broken if 
everything is not all right. He looks at me 


330 


“ LIMPY ” 


so wistfully that I know he keeps wondering 
and worrying about it although he never asks 
any questions.” 

“ The doctor has performed that operation 
so often,” said Miss Jones, “ that I don’t think 
there is much likelihood of his having failed 
this time. How do you suppose Eddie will 
take it when he learns that he is not to be 
lame?” 

“ I know the first thing he will want to 
do,” said Miss Fay. “ He will want to write 
a letter.” 

I expect you are right,” said Miss Jones. 
“ He will want to write to his mother at once 
and tell her that he is cured.” 

“ His first letter will not be to his mother,” 
argued Miss Edgar. “ He has such apprecia- 
tion and gratitude for everything that is done 
for him that I’m sure his very first act will be 
to write a letter of thanks to the doctor’s niece. 
She’s really responsible for his being here.” 

“ You can’t tell about boys,” insisted Miss 
Wilson. “ They say the bond between father 
and son is always strong. I wouldn’t be sur- 
prised if he wrote his father first.” 

“ All of you are wrong,” insisted Miss Fay. 
“ He’ll write first to that old Mr. Jonas. I 


FOR VALUE RECEIVED 331 


believe he thinks more of him than he does of 
his own family. He’s that old one-legged 
man who sent him the wooden chain. They 
are wonderful pals. He tells that old man 
things he wouldn’t tell his own mother and 
father.” 

The morning came. The plaster cast was 
removed. For many minutes Dr. Wallace’s 
deft fingers felt and massaged and explored 
the muscles of the youngster’s limb. Eddie 
silently watched him, his eyes glistening with 
suppressed excitement as he waited for the 
verdict. Miss Fay fluttered about the room, 
almost as much wrought up as was her patient. 
Outside the door in the corridor, gathered close 
that they might quickly hear the news, was the 
little group of nurses who had become Eddie’s 
particular friends. 

At last the surgeon spoke. 

“ Well, young man,” he said, and Miss 
Fay’s experienced eye read in his expression 
that he was well satisfied with the result of his 
operation, “you’re through with that brace 
forever. In a few months you’ll be walking 
as well as any one, with hardly a limp.” 

Eddie tried to thank the doctor but some- 
thing choked in his throat and he could not 


332 


“ LIMPY ” 


speak. Even after the doctor had left the 
room he just lay there smiling happily. 

“Are you glad, Eddie?” asked Miss Fay. 

He could not trust himself yet to speak even 
to her. It seemed as if years and years he had 
been carrying a great big bundle on his shoul- 
ders that kept him tired all the time and some 
one had suddenly lifted it off. He lay there 
silent, happily contemplating the possibilities 
of life with two legs instead of a leg and a half. 
How grand it would be never again to be called 
“Limpy!” Nobody would ever bother him 
again asking him what made him lame. He 
could play ball now and climb trees and do all 
the other things his brothers were accustomed 
to do. 

With tears, unrestrainable tears of joy, 
welling up in his eyes, he turned to his 
nurse. 

“ Please, Miss Fay,” he asked, “ may I 
write a letter? ” 

Smiling triumphantly that her prediction as 
to his first act had thus far come true she gave 
him a pad and pencil. For a few minutes he 
wrote steadily with forehead wrinkled and lips 
puckered. As he finished his note a new light 
shone in his eyes. 


FOE VALUE RECEIVED 333 


“Will you please mail that for 'me right 
away? ” he asked, handing it to her to be put 
in an envelope and addressed, as she did with 
all his letters. 

As she went out of the room to get an enve- 
lope the other nurses crowded around her, 
eager to see the letter. 

“ Who’s it to? ” they asked. 

“ His mother? ” 

“ His father? ” 

“ Little Diana Wallace? ” 

“ Old Mr. Jonas? ” 

Miss Fay shook her head to all of them and 
silently extended the note for them to 
read. 

After all, what does womankind know of the 
inner workings of a boy’s mind? How can 
women understand or appreciate a boy’s secret 
thoughts? What part have women in a boy’s 
dearest ambitions? Even a boy’s own mother, 
who sees him every day, cannot always under- 
stand him. 

Eddie’s letter, his first letter when he found 
that he was no longer to wear a brace, was 
never again to be “ Limpy ” Randall, was ad- 
dressed to a former adversary in the town 
where he used to live. It read: 


28G 40 


334 


“ LIMP Y ” 


“ Dear Froggie Sweeney: 

“ 1, Edward Haverford Randall, challenge you. 
I’m not lame any more. As soon as I get out of the 
hospital I’ll fight you any day and place you name.” 

“ The very idea,” exclaimed Miss Jones. 
“Wanting to fight the very first thing! 
Aren’t boys terrible?” 

But old Jonas could have told her that for 
years Eddie had been a valiant fighter. Just 
having to live is a fight for the lame. 


THE END 



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